


The Owls Are Not What They Seem

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Escapism With Black Coffee [2]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Career Ending Injuries, Claustrophobia, Did I mention angst, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Ignores Season 3, Lodge dodge, M/M, Major spoilers for the end of Season 2, Mild Sexual Content, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sickfic, Whump, angst all the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 36,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Harry’s got a feeling in his gut… not a bad one, more like an annoyed one. This case will turn out to be annoying, especially with Bobby Briggs as his star witness. He wishes Dale was working with him again instead of collaborating on whatever secret stuff goes on in the air force base forty five minutes outside town. Not for any particular reason. He just enjoys Dale’s insight on investigations, even if this is a relatively minor one.





	1. No Talking

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel nobody asked for to [a fic nobody read](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20739095/chapters/49273988).
> 
> This one is significantly angstier and darker than the first one... further warnings will be posted as applicable to each chapter. At points there may be offensive language which is appropriate to the time period this is set in.
> 
> It should also be known that as far as canon goes, I pull from the first two seasons and cherry-picked a couple things from The Return. I looked up a few things on the Wiki as well. I did not read any of the books and haven't seen the movie. So, there is an odd mix of canon and non-canon things here, such as Harry being in the national guard first before joining law enforcement.
> 
> I don't know the ages of the characters, so I use the ages of the actors. Michael Ontkean was 43 and Kyle MacLachlan was 30 at the time of production for the first season.
> 
> As a writer, the more I love a character, the more I end up tormenting them... and I love these two. Which is really horrible when you stop and think about it.

“What’s the deal, man? Are you gonna haul me in every time something happens around here from now on?” Bobby demands as Harry sits across from him.

“I ‘hauled you in’ because this kid is on your team, I figured you’d be able to help,” he answers dryly.

“Yeah well maybe instead of hassling me you should be out looking for the assholes who put him in the hospital!” Bobby bellows.

“Calm down, Bobby, you’re not in trouble,” Hawk interrupts from where he stands menacingly in the corner. It’s kind of funny to think about, because of the two of them Harry’s pretty sure Hawk’s the less approachable one. “We need to know about your friend and what happened on the field.”

“I don’t know, it was these two guys from the wrestling team or something… maybe Mike knows ’em. They beat the crap out of Jeffrey and I ran over to try and help him. They took off when they saw me.”

“Okay, what did they look like?” Harry asks, scribbling in his notepad.

“One black guy, one white guy. I think they’re on the wrestling team, I seen them before but I don’t know their names.” Bobby still looks beyond pissed. “What did Jeffrey even do? He’s not a bad kid or anything.”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Harry admits. “Is there anything weird about Jeffrey, maybe? Something that other kids would want to pick on him for?”

“I don’t know, man. He’s a good baseball player.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t really know him that well, okay? He’s like two years younger than me.”

Harry nods and sighs, flipping his notepad shut. “Okay, Bobby, you can go home. If you remember anything else you need to tell me as soon as you can so we can deal with this.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Bobby mutters as he gets up and leaves.

“Want me to go interview the kid? They might let us in by now,” Hawk offers.

“No, I can do that… how about you go talk to the wrestling coach, see if you can get a roster of the team from the most recent season. While you’re at it try to find Mike Nelson so we can question him.”

Hawk nods and they leave the interview room. Harry grabs himself a coffee and stops at Lucy’s window - “If Dale asks for me, can you tell him I’m at the hospital getting a statement?” - before heading for his car. He’s got a feeling in his gut… not a bad one, more like an annoyed one. This case will turn out to be annoying, especially with Bobby Briggs as his star witness. He wishes Dale was working with him again instead of collaborating on whatever secret stuff goes on in the air force base forty five minutes outside town. Not for any particular reason. He just enjoys Dale’s insight on investigations, even if this is a relatively minor one.

Calhoun Memorial Hospital - Harry hates hospitals to begin with like most normal people probably do, but for some reason Calhoun is especially ugly with its weirdly-painted interior walls. Jeffrey Greer isn’t in intensive care, but the staff inform Harry that he’s got several cracked ribs and a laundry list of minor injuries.

“Jeffrey?” Harry knocks lightly on the door as he comes in, finding the teenager conscious and sitting upright on the exam table. “I’m Sheriff Truman, I came to ask you about what happened this afternoon at school.”

“It’s nothing,” Jeffrey sniffs, playing with the bandages around his ribs. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“If you don’t tell me, the kids who did this to you might not get punished.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Harry sits down and tilts his head sideways, making eye contact even though Jeffrey’s looking down at the floor. “These boys put you in the hospital, Jeffrey. That’s against the law and it’s my job to make sure they don’t get away with it. It doesn’t even matter that much why they did this, it’s not okay.”

“I just-” He stops and wipes his face. “I-I really don’t wanna talk about this, okay?”

Harry wishes again for his boyfriend, who’s so much smarter and better at this than he is. Dale could get this kid to talk to them, probably in less than ten seconds, and have everything figured out by lunchtime tomorrow.

“I got beat up in high school once,” he offers, because maybe that’ll help somehow. “Two guys on my football team held me and a third slugged me in the gut. They had a pretty stupid reason for doing it. I bet the reason this happened to you is pretty stupid, too, so it’s a good idea for you to just tell me so I can go get them for it.”

“You won’t understand,” Jeffrey insists, shaking his head and clearly trying not to cry harder than he already is. “It doesn’t matter. If I tell you then you’ll just think they’re right to beat me up. Cops don’t like guys like me. Nobody likes guys like me.”

“Bobby Briggs is alright with you, he said he ran over to help when he saw it happening.”

Jeffrey hiccups. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. Not even my parents.”

Harry nods, not explicitly promising anything because he knows he can’t do that. But he really wants to help this boy. Something’s up here.

“Tell me, Jeffrey. Why did these kids hurt you?”

“Th-they. They saw m-me with…” Jeffrey’s going to start sobbing as soon as he finishes that sentence, and Harry braces for it. “They saw me with my boyfriend.”

Oh. Great. This is everything Harry doesn’t need, reminders that kids are just as bad now as they were when he was in school, that he’s not safe here if he and Dale are found out by the town for the same reasons. “I’ve dated women too” is a flimsy defense at best that won’t save him in that scenario.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, standing up and hugging the poor kid because he thinks maybe Dale would do that. Maybe it’s the right thing. Jeffrey seems like he could use a hug. “We’re going to try and find these kids. What did they look like?”

“A white guy and a black guy,” Jeffrey whimpers through the tears. After a second he stops being so proud and buries his face in Harry’s uniform shirt. “I don’t really know them, they’re not-not in any of my classes or anything.”

“Bobby Briggs said they might be on the wrestling team, do you know if they are?”

“No. I mean. I don’t know. They’re not baseball players.”

“How big were they?”

“Uh, th-the black guy was about as big as me. The white guy was a little shorter and skinnier I think.”

“You’re not in trouble, Jeffrey. They were wrong to do this. Did they hurt your boyfriend too?”

“No, he had detention and he wasn’t with me.”

“If you want, I can send somebody to tell him what happened so he can come see you.”

“Okay.”

“What’s his name?”

“Avery Cleary, he lives on Spring Street.”

Harry pats the boy’s back, then leaves and goes back to his car. He hates this. He hates this so much, that kid’s a year younger than he was when his friends turned on him and beat him to a pulp for being a _ faggot. _ He wishes there was someone he can talk to about this, but there really isn’t, not even Dale - Dale’s very comfortable with himself and probably never got ostracized for being less than straight, so he won’t understand even if Harry describes it.

Harry has a feeling he’ll be hitting the sauce after work tonight.


	2. The Preferred Manner Of Perpetuating Intoxication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“Diane, it’s 6:25 pm, I’m approximately ten minutes away from home as I record this. Captain Langley and Major Briggs’ calculations seem to have been off once again, because the procedure yielded inconclusive results in a similar manner to the previous attempts. In four weeks, I can only imagine how frustrating this stalled process must’ve been for the last ten years that Garland has been working on this project. Hypotheses that the random gibberish in sound waves collected from space are a type of code continue to be unfounded. At this point I’m forced to confess that this position as liaison officer between the military and the Bureau is much less interesting than I was led to believe. As much as I enjoy commuting home to Harry every night, I do also miss the tangible thrill of solving difficult cases and performing investigative work. I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

At this point in time, Dale feels it would be unwise of him to confess to Diane that he’s beginning to consider resigning altogether and finding a new profession to engage in. He’s continually buried in his office behind a wall of paperwork, compiling data and reports for the Bureau in the manner of a circus animal taught to perform entertaining acts in front of an audience. Such animals have no understanding of the actions they undertake, but they have no need to understand such actions, either. Dale is, in essence, a trained monkey. There are many less qualified men who could easily fill his current position and he’s dissatisfied with that.

_ Harry would likely re-deputize me, _ Dale thinks, smiling to himself. _ Less thrilling than solving murders and thwarting domestic terrorists, but more interesting and fulfilling than what I’m assigned to now. _ He’ll ask his boyfriend about it over dinner tonight.

Pulling up to the house, Dale recalls quite randomly that tomorrow morning they’ll make an attempt at conquering the shower curtain (likely the first of many attempts if Dale’s feeling truthful about the matter). Even a clear shower curtain is unacceptable to his altered perception, but baths are wasteful and less sanitary. Dale knows he needs to learn to trust curtains again. They’re an unavoidable fact of life and showers are much less taxing in terms of Harry’s water bill.

What’s immediately concerning is that, upon entry, there’s no food out but the lights are on. If the lights were off, it would mean that Harry was simply staying late at work. But the kitchen light is on and the living room light is off and there’s a glow from the tv screen, which means Harry is sitting on the couch with a bottle of Jack Daniels. Dale knows this not because he’s seen it particularly often, but because he once asked Harry over the phone to describe what he was doing and Harry explained the manner in which he preferred to become intoxicated. No lights in the living room, television on mute. Dale also understands that Harry, generally speaking, drinks as a coping mechanism when something is unbearably troubling. Harry drank a lot while Dale was in DC.

“Harry?” he calls softly, not taking off his coat or shoes.

A noise between a grunt and a mumble in reply.

“Harry what happened today?”

“Nothin’.”

Dale rounds the couch in time to see him take another swig. “I hope you understand why I don’t believe you when you say that.” He sits, very gradually, and reaches out a hand. Thankfully, Harry relinquishes his crutch and sinks into the corner of the couch. “Did something happen at work?”

“Don’wanna talk ’bout it, Coop.”

“But if you talk about it with me, I may be able to help you fix it.”

“You can’t.” Dale hates seeing Harry so troubled. He wonders if Twin Peaks has an AA chapter. “It’s… unfix’ble.”

“Nothing is unfixable,” Dale murmurs, setting the bottle of liquor aside and reaching over to pull Harry into the safety of his embrace. “Please let me help.”

Harry shakes his head. He isn’t an angry drunk so much as being drunk simply exacerbates whatever mood he’s currently in, which Dale considers far more dangerous. An angry drunk is predictable at least. What Harry _ is, _ though, is a difficult drunk. He becomes unreasonable, he refuses words and looks only for comfort. Fortunately, Dale has plenty of that. He lets go with one arm only long enough to untie his shoes, then snuggles them up on the couch so they can lay there for some indeterminate period of time. Eventually he finds the remote from the position he’s lying in and switches off the tv, which will hopefully signal to Harry that his drinking-alone-in-the-dark time has concluded.

“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” Dale asks.

Harry offers a fairly affirmative-sounding grunt.

“Do we have leftovers?”

“Think so.”

“Okay.”

Dale removes them both from the couch and more or less places Harry in one of the kitchen chairs, then hunts through the fridge for something easily warmed up on the stove. He can’t cook particularly well on his own, but he’s still capable of heating leftovers.

“Dale?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“It’s just not fair.”

Ah, he knew this would happen. “What’s not fair?”

“Gay kids still gettin’ beat up at school.” Harry puts his head down on the table. “Feel like that should’a stopped by now.”

“Is this what upset you at work?”

“…yeah.”

“Why?”

“Happ’ned to me once. More’n once.”

Dale stirs idly. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“Once in school. Once when I was enlisted.”

This makes an unfortunate amount of sense. It stands to reason that if Harry was a victim of violence at a younger age and coped with it improperly or alone, he now finds destructive ways to deal with those unpleasant memories.

“Harry, nobody’s going to attack you,” Dale promises, still stirring but looking over his shoulder to watch his boyfriend.

“But maybe they will.”

Dale considers whether the alcohol is making Harry insecure or if Harry has been secretly insecure all along and the alcohol is simply making it show itself. Ultimately he decides that, for the time being at least, it doesn’t particularly matter which one it is.

“If anyone tries to hurt you then I’ll shoot them,” Dale informs him, very seriously.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Dale imagines an irate rabble of people chasing them and reasons that in such a scenario it would be ruled self-defense. “I’m sorry it happened to you before.”

“Still happens to kids now,” Harry mumbles. “How long ’til it stops?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Dale admits. “But from my perspective the kids it happens to now have a distinct advantage.”

“Huh?”

“They have you here to protect them.”

“Oh.” Harry nods and seems at least a little less miserable. “Yeah, I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of alcoholism.  
2\. Brief descriptions of violent homophobia, but nothing too graphic.


	3. The Horrors Of Closing A Shower Curtain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warnings in end notes.

“You can do this, Dale,” Harry tries to reassure him.

“I appreciate your confidence in me,” Dale answers, sounding like he doesn’t actually appreciate it that much at all. They’re trying to conquer the shower curtain this morning and Harry’s pretending his hangover is less bad than it is because he knows Dale needs him to be strong right now. “I believe it’ll be helpful if you continue talking while I attempt this.”

“Okay. What do you want me to say?”

“The subject matter isn’t important.”

Harry nods and watches Dale unbuttoning his pajama shirt. “Can I talk _ to _ you or just _ at _ you?”

“Either way.”

“Where do all your paychecks go?”

“My mother had a stroke several years ago. I’m paying largely out of pocket for her nursing home services.”

“Jesus. How’s she doing?”

“She’s been surviving well considering the circumstances. She can’t talk anymore, but she can write, so I get letters from her every two weeks. At some point I’ll be visiting her in the near future.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Harry offers slowly.

Dale, like always, gives him a huge smile. “I’d like that very much. It should make the stay in Philadelphia considerably more pleasant for me.”

The sleeveless undershirt comes off and Harry tries not to flinch looking at the scars on Dale’s belly - they’ve been completely healed for awhile now, yes, but they’re still bright pink and obvious. Ugly pictures jump into his mind of Dale puking blood all over both of them as he hauled his then-friend to his car.

He almost forgets what they’re talking about, but remembers after a second. “Uh. Good. Yeah. Let me know when that is so I can tell Lucy to put it on my schedule.”

Dale, again like always, reads him too easily. “Does this bother you?” he asks quietly, thumbing one of the marks on his abdomen. “I promise it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I’m okay,” he answers, not sure if he’s lying or not. He rubs his forehead and changes the way he’s sitting on the lid of the toilet seat. “So Philadelphia. Is it nice there?”

“I much prefer living here.”

“What about the rest of your family?”

“I have an older brother… he’s what you could call ‘estranged.’ When I joined the Bureau I received a rather tastelessly-worded letter from him which included several profanities and that called me a ‘tool of the government establishment’ or some such nonsense. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“I know how that is,” Harry sighs. “Frank and my dad are disappointed in me… they never say it, but I can tell. They think I’m too soft.”

“Well, I don’t agree with them. You take excellent care of your town and its residents.”

Harry swallows as he nods, distracted by the sight of Dale in nothing but boxers. He’s skinny but also toned, and this is what’s been hiding under those nice suits and soft pajamas all this time. After a second he remembers why he’s here, though, and feels ashamed of himself. He’s supposed to be helping, not gawking like a twelve year old reading his first Playboy magazine.

“Are you still doing okay?” he asks, and this is the only time he can think of where getting old and slow is coming in handy. If Harry was twenty three instead of forty three right now, he would’ve immediately gotten an erection and then been even more distracted.

“Are you?” Dale replies with a grin that’s mischievous and knowing but also very pleased with himself for the moment.

“Yeah. You look really good.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

After that, though, their attention goes back to the horrors of closing a shower curtain. Dale forgets to take his underwear off getting in, and only manages to pull the curtain halfway shut before pushing it open again and escaping to the bathmat. Harry wonders if it’s because they couldn’t find one that was completely clear - it’s more like translucent instead of transparent. Harry gets up and hugs Dale, who’s breathing way harder than he should be, and takes him into the kitchen.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he decides, sticking Dale’s head in the sink and going back to the bathroom to grab the bottle of shampoo. “We’ll figure this out pretty soon.”

“I’ve done many more terrifying things than take showers, but a sheet of plastic continues to defeat me in a battle of wits,” Dale comments, somewhere between annoyed and amused.

Harry chuckles as he runs the water and gets it warm before redirecting it with his hands to get it in his boyfriend’s dark hair. “I guarantee you’re a lot smarter than it.”

“I feel incapable.”

“You’re not, though.” Harry rubs in the shampoo, trying to de-gunk Dale’s scalp even though he knows more hair gel will be used as soon as it’s dry enough. “Like I said, we’ll figure this out. Close your eyes, Coop.”

“I should get it cut soon,” Dale comments as Harry rinses out the suds. “It’s becoming completely unmanageable even with significant amounts of product.”

“I have to run to my office for something in a few minutes, but we can go do that after lunch if you want. I’m getting due, too.”

“I have to insist that you not get yours cut too short,” Dale informs him, smiling as he stands upright and starts toweling off his head. “It adds to your ruggedly handsome appearance.”

Harry snorts. “Since you want to get it cut, maybe you shouldn’t get it all gunked up first.” He reaches over and runs his fingers through it - it’s so soft and almost fluffy despite its length. “I don’t know why you put all that crap in your hair, it’s really nice by itself.”

“You prefer me to look like a disordered mess?”

“…yeah, a little.” Harry moves both hands to the sides of Dale’s face and kisses him. “You look fine like this. I don’t think it’s possible for you to _ not _ look good.”

“I sense that you’re on the verge of calling me pretty again.”

“You _ are _ pretty.” Harry kisses him a second time. “I need some aspirin… just comb it when you’re dressed, they’ll have an easier time cutting it that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Allusions to traumatic claustrophobia in this chapter, but nothing too major.  
2\. Scarring from old injuries, which bother Harry a little, but nothing too graphic. (They're all healed up by now, he just doesn't like them.)


	4. The Potential Of Mob Mentality With Rioting

Dale finishes his thorough hand-washing and is tucking in his shirt when the phone rings. He’s immediately grateful that this call wasn’t placed two minutes earlier.

“Cooper here.”

“Dale Cooper?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Good morning, Mr. Cooper, this is the office of Dr. William Hayward. I’m calling about the results of your blood tests.”

“I see.”

“I’m happy to let you know that all the lab tests came back negative, you’re free of any sexually transmitted diseases and you’re not HIV-positive.”

Dale smiles. “Excellent, thank you very much for the good news.”

“If you need a copy of these results in printed form they’ll be available for the next ninety days.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary, but I appreciate it. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you, you as well.”

Dale replaces the phone receiver and finishes straightening the flannel he stole from Harry, feeling exceptionally pleased with the information he’s just been given and exceedingly thankful that Doc Hayward’s office is apparently open for a limited period of time on Saturday mornings. He wasn’t especially worried that anything would be found, but it’s preferable to be certain in advance. Better still, by having this process done through Doc Hayward, he knows the information will remain in confidence and can’t be exposed to be used against him or Harry in the future.

So far, shower curtain difficulties notwithstanding, this morning is turning out quite well. Harry sizing him up and appreciating his physique provided a significant dopamine release in his brain, and the subsequent physical contact - though tame and domestic in nature - demanded that he masturbate in order to free his mental space for more critical tasks. For instance, the impossible behavior of his hair in its current state. He’s very much looking forward to having it trimmed this afternoon.

While he waits for Harry to return, Dale peruses the bookcase in the living room, something he’s been meaning to do since he first stayed here but for some reason is only finding the time to do now. Books on birds and other wildlife frequent the shelves, a small collection of college textbooks, and curiously enough the novel _ Cujo _ by Stephen King. Given that it’s the only such novel present, Dale wonders if it was a gift from someone who wasn’t familiar with Harry’s reading habits, or perhaps a keepsake - it’s clearly been read several times.

On the bottom shelf are photo albums. Dale becomes immediately engrossed, leisurely exploring them on the couch and discovering different stages of Harry’s life. The earliest ones are from high school, exclusively in black and white depicting a young Harry in his football uniform and then what appears to be dressed for senior prom. There’s a girl at his side in that one. Shortly following is one of Harry while presumably enlisted in Washington state’s national guard, hair tragically almost nonexistent as he stands in his dress uniform with the cap tucked under one arm; he looks proud but also vaguely uneasy, sporting the rank of private first class.

Harry’s brother and parents are featured every so often in photos of holidays or fishing excursions, until one that seems to be of Thanksgiving; the year _ 1976 _ is marked on the page under it in ink, and his mother is conspicuously absent. Dale dwells on this for a moment, in no small part because it was the year before he graduated high school. It’s still startling in a very minor way each time he remembers that Harry is thirteen years older than him, mainly because this fact holds so little importance. Dale loves Harry. They’re both adults and it makes no difference how much older or younger they are from each other.

Almost two thirds of the way through the second album is an expensive color photograph of Harry and Frank with a small child approximately five or six years old, fishing rods in their hands and labeled _ Joey’s first fishing trip _ underneath. Dale’s surprised, though maybe he shouldn’t be. Harry’s relationship with his brother is far from spectacular and it stands to reason that he’s not a major part of his nephew’s life. For a brief moment, it causes Dale to wonder what’s become of Emmet, and if he has any nieces or nephews that the loss of contact with his brother has concealed from him.

Dale allows his train of thought to partially derail as he entertains the notion of himself being featured in one of these albums. Considering neither of them has been especially lucky in prior romantic relationships, it seems dangerous to assume this will turn out well… but Dale still deeply hopes that it will. Caroline and Josie couldn’t protect themselves. Dale and Harry are no strangers to fending off mortal danger of all sorts. Perhaps they stand a better chance paired like this, if the previous incidents are any indication. He’d be very honored to someday (maybe even someday soon) have a place in the collection of visual memories belonging to this wonderful, kind man.

_ I love you, Harry Truman, _ Dale thinks as he studies a photo of his boyfriend as a deputy, shoulder-to-shoulder with Hawk and a man Dale doesn’t recognize. It’s a thought he has often these days, usually at random. He flips to the next page and decides he’ll enquire about whether he can put one of these in a frame to keep on his office desk, or perhaps have one taken explicitly for that purpose at a later time. He wouldn’t mind if Harry would also like a picture of him for the same reason, but many more people see the inside of Harry’s office than Dale’s, so that seems unlikely due to the risk.

He pulls out his microcassette recorder.

“Diane it’s-” A brief glance to his watch. “-9:20 am on a rainy Saturday morning. A troubling thought has occurred to me sometime in the last two to four seconds about the concealed nature of my relationship with Harry. As of this moment in time, only seven people including yourself and excluding Harry and myself are in the know that I’m aware of. However, Harry is obviously a very public figure and a leader of the community. Try though he might to keep his personal life private, at a certain point questions will be asked by the wrong person about why I’ve taken up residence with him and not sought out a home of my own, especially given the reasonable prices of property here in town. In essence I’m also a public figure, given my actions regarding the Laura Palmer case and the fact that my consistent purchasing of pie and coffee at the Double R have enabled Norma to partially update the hardware in the diner’s kitchen. Unfortunately sheriffs are elected into their position by the community at large, so it’s extremely unwise to make our relationship known. At the very least this would likely cost him his profession. At worst, there could be a riot and subsequent lynching.”

Dale sighs and puts his fingers through his hair; it’s an unfamiliar and largely unpleasant sensation to wear it without product to hold it firmly in its place.

“Diane… I wonder, like always, why society is so terrified by the prospect of same-sex relationships. Having been romantically involved with both men and women, I find nothing particularly horrific about either side and wish only to be in a satisfactory and loving partnership. I can only assume this is a desire shared by most heterosexual individuals as well. But I also have a strong feeling that even if his livelihood weren’t threatened, Harry would be hesitant at best to show me off on his arm the way he would with a woman. There’s a certain discomfort he feels at the idea of being in a relationship with another man, and I’m beginning to suspect that this has a role in his alcoholism. He’s been hiding for too long and it’s damaged him. Remind me in the near future to look into AA chapters in the area, I’d like to pitch the idea to him. Maybe they can help.”

Dale rearranges his untamed hair again.

“As a final note, I’d like to keep a picture of him either in my office or my wallet. I’m unsure if this desire means it’s time I retired the one of Caroline that lives in my pocket. From a certain perspective this seems reasonable, and I’ve long since moved on with my life… my affections and desires are currently and completely owned by Harry. But she and her memory are significant to the events of my life. I don’t think it’s possible for me to forget her, and I have no inclination to do so even if it were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brief reference to *Cujo* by Stephen King is because that's the only one of his novels I found even remotely scary.


	5. How The World Works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major trigger warnings in end notes.

“I want you to look at this picture, okay? Tell me if you see either of the boys who got after you,” Harry instructs, handing over the team photo of the ’88-’89 season wrestlers. “Take your time.”

Jeffrey nods and takes it, staring intently at the large glossy print while his boyfriend fidgets nervously beside him. Harry has so much pity for both of them, but he also realizes that Dale was right the other day - they have a leg up because he’s here to take care of crap like this. He won’t just sit back and let two homophobes get away with this kind of behavior, school athletes or not. He wonders if there’s anyone else to protect kids like Jeffrey and Avery besides him… probably not. Probably even their own parents wouldn’t if they knew. That thought makes him sick.

“I think… this was one.” Jeffrey lays the picture on the desk and puts his index finger just under the face of one of the two black boys. “And… um, and, um, this was the other one.” He points to a shorter white boy in the front row. “Yeah. That’s him. He has funny-shaped eyebrows.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, Sheriff.”

“Good.” He circles both faces in ink, then reaches for the comm and presses the button. “Lucy, can you bring these boys a couple donuts? I’ll be back to talk to them again in a few minutes, but they can probably use some snacks while they wait.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff. Do you know what kinds of donuts they like or should I bring one of each flavor?”

“I don’t think it matters that much. Thanks, Lucy.” He looks at Jeffrey and Avery. “Excuse me.”

In the conference room, Bobby Briggs and Mike Nelson are waiting. They seem conflicted - on the one hand, they don’t like him bothering them, but on the other it gets them out of class on a Monday.

“So why do I gotta be here?” Mike complains.

“Shut up, man, one’a my teammates got the shit beat outta him,” Bobby growls, elbowing his cohort.

“Mike, I need to know the names of the two guys who’re circled in this picture.”

“Okay. That’s Dylan Henderson and that’s Tre Winters.” Mike starts to sneer. “So why do you even care? The kid didn’t die or anything, plus I heard he’s a fag so it seems like he got what’s coming to him.”

Harry’s never wanted to break the face of an eighteen-year-old so much before. He doesn’t get the chance to do something stupid like start yelling or throwing a punch, though, because Bobby beats him to it, dragging Mike out of the chair by his shirt collar.

“What the hell’s your problem, man? Your teammates are attacking _ my _ teammates-”

“So? If he’s gonna act like a little bitch he deserves to get his ass kicked!”

Bobby hauls off and slugs him in the gut, dropping him. Before he can do anything else Harry grabs him and drags him away. “Andy!” he bellows through the door. “Little help!” Andy comes rushing in, picking Mike up off the floor and moving him further out of Bobby’s reach. “Take Mike to the waiting area, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Get off me, man!” Bobby howls, still fighting uselessly to unpin his arms from Harry’s grip.

“Siddown, Bobby,” Harry orders, all but shoving him back into a chair and then closing the door once Andy and Mike have left. “Are you really dumb enough to start fighting in a police station? Because technically I can arrest you for that right now.”

“I thought you’re gonna arrest the two dicks who beat up Jeffrey!”

“Yeah, I am, but you need to get your shit together. You got in a barfight in February, I know you were involved with Leo somehow before he got shot… you can’t keep on going around hitting people you don’t like.”

“Yeah but I was tryna protect Shelly from Leo,” Bobby protests. “What he did to her was wrong…”

“I know that. You still can’t attack people whenever you feel like, no matter how much of an asshole they’re being. We’re going after the guys who beat up Jeffrey, so you need to leave it with us. And while you’re at it… maybe get yourself some better friends than Mike Nelson if this pisses you off so bad.”

Bobby opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it a second time. “Is Jeffrey actually…?”

“Couldn’t tell you. You’d have to ask him.”

“I have to be in a locker room with him…”

“Yeah, and?”

Bobby glares at the table. “It’s still wrong. Can’t just beat up people just ’cause they’re there. That’s what Leo always did to Shelly.”

Harry nods. This is actually pretty damn good progress with this kid. “I know. So maybe you should take that sense of justice and do something that’s actually helpful with it.”

“Yeah, like what, sitting on my ass waiting for you guys to get around to actually doing something about this?”

“You could just be where Jeffrey is and stop this from happening again. It’d be a good start.”

“Fine, whatever, I guess I’ll do that then.” Bobby looks like he’s going to stand up, but then doesn’t. “So wait, aren’t you gonna arrest me for hitting Mike or something?”

“No, this time I won’t. But if it happens again…”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Okay. Go back to school.”

Harry waits long enough to make sure Bobby leaves without causing more trouble before handing over the photo to Hawk. “Dylan Henderson, Tre Winters. Take Andy with you.”

“Sure thing, Harry. Andy!” Hawk jerks his head. “Let’s go!”

Harry goes over to Mike. As a lawman, he knows he shouldn’t think things like this, but he’s secretly glad Bobby punched this kid.

“Your buddies from the wrestling team are probably going to jail, Mike. Before you get that look on your face, yes, it’s ‘just’ for beating up a fag. You beat on people, the law punishes you. Feel free to learn something from this, because if you don’t I’m happy to send you with them.” Harry glares for a second to let that sink in, even though he knows it’s probably not working. “Get outta here.”

Mike sneers but gets up and leaves without saying anything. Harry just stands there rubbing his face for a moment - he hates this. He hates that it’s his job to stop kids from getting beaten to a pulp just for being gay, because the school and their families refuse to protect them. He feels like there should be some steps that get taken before the problem reaches him, but there aren’t, and he hates that too.

“Sheriff do you have a headache?” Lucy asks from behind her window. “If you have a headache there’s a bottle of aspirin and a bottle of tylenol in the kitchen. I’m not supposed to take aspirin because I’m pregnant but you still can if you need to.”

“Thanks, Lucy. I think I just need more coffee.” Harry realizes he actually _ does _ have a damn headache and rubs his temples as he heads for the kitchen to pour himself some. He ends up taking four aspirin tablets and downing them with an entire mug of lukewarm coffee before going back to his office. “Jeffrey, the two boys who attacked you are going to be brought in for questioning soon. Mike Nelson got sent back to school, though, and he might be looking to cause problems. If you want I can keep you both here for the rest of the day until after school lets out and then bring you home, it might be safer.”

“Will they know we’re here? The two guys?”

“No. I’ll leave the door closed so they won’t see you.”

Avery nods. “Thanks, Sheriff Truman.”

True to his word Harry shuts the door to his office on the way out. “Lucy, can you call the high school and let them know Jeffrey and Avery won’t be back in class until tomorrow?”

“Okay, Sheriff.”

Harry drinks another cup of coffee while he waits, and apparently his timing is really good because as he takes the last sip Dylan and Tre are brought in by Hawk and Andy.

“Put him in the conference room and him in the room downstairs,” Harry directs. “Andy, I want you to stay with Dylan until I get down there.”

“He’s been advised of his rights,” Hawk says as they sit Tre down in the conference room.

“Good.” Harry also sits. “Tre how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“The boy you attacked is only sixteen. That’s assault and battery of a minor.”

“He’s a queer!”

“That has nothing to do with it. You attacked and beat a child.”

“But he’s a fag and he got on a sports team! He’s there to-”

“He’s there to play sports, Tre. He’s not even _ on _ your wrestling team. You’re going to jail.”

“But he’s a gross queer!”

“Saying that over and over again doesn’t change anything.” Harry glances at Hawk, who’s glaring at Tre. “Now here’s my question: did Dylan put you up to this or was it your idea?”

“He said there’s a faggot on the baseball team and we should make sure he knows his place. Can’t just let queers get away with this shit, you know?”

“So this was both your ideas?”

“He’s the one told me about the queer.”

“So it was _ his _ idea.”

“I don’t know, I guess! Does it have to be anyone’s idea? Fags can learn to be normal or they can get their asses beat, that’s just how it works!”

“No, that’s _ not _ how it works. Because the way the law works, you’re going to be locked up for assault and battery of a minor just like I said. Hawk, put him in cell two.”

Harry helps his deputy fight Tre downstairs into the cell, which he expected. The whole time Tre yells that queers deserve to get beat. Does he actually believe he did nothing wrong, or does he know he did something wrong but thinks it shouldn’t matter because he did it to a gay boy? Harry’s not sure which one it is and he’s also not sure which one is worse. And now he gets to go through this process again with the other kid. If it wasn’t Monday, if it was Friday instead, this would be slightly less horrible because then he could start drinking after work. As long as he’s not doing it on the night before a shift, there’s no problem.

Harry grudgingly enters the interrogation room. “Andy, have you read him his rights?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He takes a seat. “So this fun little crime of yours - who came up with it?”

“Does it matter?” Dylan grins, shameless. “Find a faggot, faggot gets beat. I guess there’s rallies or whatever in other places where all the fags get together yelling ‘we’re here we’re queer get used to it’ or some shit like that, but we don’t gotta get used to it. They gotta go back to wherever they came from and let normal people be normal.”

“So this was your idea.”

“It’s not an idea, man, it’s a fact of life.”

“Actually, here’s some facts of life for you. Fact number one, you don’t understand how the world actually works. Fact number two, you attacked and injured a minor when you’re in the age of majority. Fact number three, the minor you attacked and injured did nothing to provoke you. Fact number four, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re put behind bars for the maximum amount of sentencing time possible.”

They stick Dylan in cell five and go back upstairs. Harry’s headache is even worse now and his mood for the rest of the day (maybe the rest of the week) is ruined.

“Sheriff Truman are you feeling well?”

“No, Andy, I’m not. I have arrest forms to fill out and the headache it gives me showed up for its shift a half hour early.”

“Gee, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there something I can do to help?”

“Order more donuts… and have Lucy get two extra lunches today, we’ll need something to feed those two kids.”

“Okay.”

Harry opens his office door. “I have to do a bunch of paperwork so I’m gonna have you go sit in the conference room.”

He stays for a few seconds and watches them spread out their school books on the table, which makes him think of something. As he approaches Lucy’s window, though, she says something confusing that almost makes him completely lose his train of thought.

“Okay. Thank you so much, Agent Cooper.” Lucy hangs up and looks at him. “Do you need something, Sheriff?”

“Why did Dale call?”

“He didn’t, I called him, but it was Andy’s idea since you’re having such a terrible day. Did you need something?”

Harry’s blood pounds behind his eyes and he can’t decode that, so he decides to just answer the question. “Yeah. Can you call the school again and get a list of Avery and Jeffrey’s homework assignments?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you call Dale?”

“Because you’re having a terrible day.”

That makes absolutely no sense. “That wasn’t really necessary, if I need to talk to him I can call him myself. And besides that, he’s at work right now.”

“Yes, Sheriff, I know he is, but Andy said-”

“It’s fine,” Harry decides, shaking his head. He digs his fingertips into his temples. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry I said anything.”

He goes back to his office and sits, rubbing his scalp and his forehead. Nothing helps. Harry struggles through Dylan’s arrest report and even makes it halfway into Tre’s before he has to put his head down on his desk and cover it with his arms to block out all the light. It feels like a grenade went off behind his eyes and he can’t look at anything until that tones down at least a little.

“Harry are you alright?”

He jerks in surprise when he hears Dale’s voice, but he can’t open his eyes because it’ll hurt too much.

“I have a headache.”

“I may be able to help with that. Sit up.”

Dale starts squeezing his shoulders when he does, and Harry doesn’t know how this’ll help but it does feel nice so he holds still and lets it happen. Eventually the hands move to his neck and then his head, fingertips burrowing against his scalp at all the pressure points. Dale starts murmuring something about how sunlight looks coming from between the trees, but Harry only catches about half of it. His mind drifts to that image, though, the sun in the forest. Just half of Dale’s words bring him there until it’s so real he can almost smell the pine needles.

“Better?”

“Huh?” Harry’s eyes open and he remembers that this is a work day. He also realizes his headache is almost gone. “How’d you do that?”

“Massaging the cranium and surrounding areas improves blood flow… I brought lunch.”

“How are you on lunch? It’s a forty minute drive!”

“Oh, I’m not. I took the rest of the day off. Lucy sounded abnormally worried about your health.”

“So every time I get a headache you’re going to just drop whatever you’re doing and come running over to save me?” Harry questions.

“Probably not, but I have a strong feeling you’re glad I did it this time.”

Dale has him there. “Yeah, okay.” He gets up and they both start unpacking the food onto his desk. “This case is really bothering me.”

“I gathered as much. The unnecessary cruelty of highschoolers on the basis of homophobia.”

“Yup.”

Dale sits, reaching for one of the mugs of coffee but not taking a sip right away. “Harry… try not to become too involved in this case. If too much of your personal feeling gets in the way you’re going to get into trouble.”

“I know, Coop.”

“Intellectually you know. But emotionally you’re becoming hung up on the idea that this victim is now wholly your responsibility.”

“Gee, where’ve I heard that before?” Harry grins. “I think I said something like that to you after you rescued Audrey.”

Dale nods. “My advice still stands.”

They both start eating and Harry mulls over everything. Dale’s right and he knows it, but it bothers him that he had to be reminded of it at all. He’s usually better at this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Lots of homophobia from various places.  
2\. Some minor depictions of violence: Bobby gets in a quick fist-fight.


	6. On Premonitions

“Diane, it’s 7:45 am, halfway through my second cup of coffee for the morning, and I’m having a very well-prepared omelet as I listen to Harry organizing his fishing equipment. He’s looking especially handsome today.” Dale grins as he watches Harry’s ears turn pink - it was the reason he said that at all, and it worked. “We’ve finally found time for a much-anticipated fishing excursion. I think it’s important that we’re taking a weekend for recreational activities considering the potential difficulties that may arise for Harry in the coming work week when the judge and the state prosecutor finally arrive for the arraignment on Tre Winters and Dylan Henderson. I’m concerned for the outcome of this case, not only because the current state of our justice system is consistently unfair to homosexuals but because Harry is troubled by it. I worry for him.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Harry snorts from across the kitchen as he piles sandwiches and donuts into a lunchbox.

“Yes, Harry, I’m well aware.” Dale returns his attention to his tape recorder. “Part of this worry stems from a dream I had last night. For once, Diane, I’m almost at a complete loss as to how I’d go about explaining this dream… I don’t recall with any clarity the things said or done, it’s more of the impression of a feeling. I remember being overcome with a deep sense of dread, and the idea that the lives of people I hold dear being disrupted in some terrible way. But also a strange feeling of community to go along with it. So, in essence, an extremely mixed message. I find this to be both troubling and intriguing.” He turns it off.

“Should I be worried that you’re getting visions again?” Harry asks from the other side of the room, sounding completely serious.

“I can’t say. I suppose we’ll find out soon.”

“Alright, then I’m worried.”

“If that’s how you choose to feel, Harry, I can’t and won’t stop you.”

Dale finishes eating and dresses himself appropriately for a fishing trip in May per Harry’s instructions, and as he’s tying his boots he takes a moment to covertly appreciate how good his boyfriend looks in similar attire. Harry, busy collecting the two life jackets from a closet, doesn’t notice that he’s being appraised; if he had, it’s likely he would’ve started blushing again. He usually blushes for Dale.

Without his tan uniform and his boots, in shorts and a shirt with ordinary shoes, Harry still looks like a cowboy due solely to the Stetson hat. Dale wonders if Harry would ever let him wear that hat, just to try it for a handful of seconds. He also strongly suspects it wouldn’t work nearly as well on him as it does on Harry; Dale’s not a cowboy and he knows it.

“What’re you thinking about?” Harry wonders.

“Unbearably sappy things that Albert and Diane would tease me for,” Dale admits, smiling.

“Yeah? What?”

“I would make a terrible cowboy. Fortunately I have you for that.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, you would. That’s not that sappy, Dale.”

“By itself, no it isn’t. But that thought is quickly followed by romantic notions of you being my cowboy.”

Dale is rewarded for that statement by Harry grinning and turning pink. “Yeah, that’s a lot more sappy. I also don’t think that’s the kind of thing you’d want to tell someone like Albert Rosenfield, wouldn’t he mock you endlessly for it?”

“The basis on which Albert mocks me endlessly covers a variety of topics as it stands, one more couldn’t possibly make that big of a difference.” Dale keeps smiling. “However, behind his wall of taunts, he has a healthy level of approval for my relationship with you because he knows you take good care of me.”

“I do my best.”

Dale understands how important it is for Harry to hear something like that - he’s the kind of man who needs to be needed. Dale, technically speaking, can operate autonomously and be self-sufficient, but he doesn’t enjoy it nearly as much. He delights in learning about the local flora and fauna from Harry as well as the obvious comforts drawn from dining with and sleeping beside a trustworthy and affectionate companion. Those are things Dale needs from Harry and Harry gives those things to Dale, so while Dale’s not especially vulnerable he’s still able to fill Harry’s requirements as well. This thought makes him very happy as it constructs in his mind.


	7. Watching Without Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

_ Released on their own recognizance. _ The phrase echoes horribly around in his head. Dylan and Tre are loose until the trial on the grounds that their education is important. Never mind that in the meantime they could just decide to beat Jeffrey to death. Harry wishes so much for something he could do to help this, but there’s nothing. He’s done all he can and the law refuses to protect a gay boy.

This is a terrible way to start his week, especially after a lovely and relaxing weekend of fishing with Dale on the Pearl Lakes. He reaches for that, the calmness of a nice May afternoon on fairly still water and his boyfriend yammering away at that damn tape recorder like always. The image is immediately poisoned when he opens his eyes and realizes that yes, he’s still in his office, and yes, he should really get this paperwork taken care of.

“Sheriff Truman?”

He presses the button. “Go ahead, Lucy.”

“Doc Hayward is here to see you. At first I thought he was here to see me because of the baby, but he said he’s actually here to see you about something.”

“Okay, tell him to come into my office.”

Doc Hayward appears shortly following and closes the door behind him. He has a grim expression on his face.

“Harry, I’m here about your blood test.”

Ah, the blood test. Dale had very politely and very reasonably asked Harry to get checked just in case, and Harry had obliged. Apparently it was a good idea, because Doc Hayward wouldn’t have come to see him in the middle of the day if something wasn’t seriously wrong. Harry wonders what he’s got and how he got it - did Josie have something and not say anything to him?

“Please at least tell me I don’t have AIDS.”

“No, you don’t. In fact you’re free of any sexually transmitted diseases. But… the lab noticed something else, completely unrelated. Harry… I’m sorry to tell you this, but tomorrow morning I’m going to have to ask you to come by the hospital for a bone marrow biopsy. You’ll probably have to take the whole day off work, it’s a fairly uncomfortable procedure.”

The words don’t find their way into his brain after he hears “biopsy.” He knows what that word is.

“I have cancer?”

“You may have leukemia. We need to take a closer look. If you do, then it’s very lucky you got this blood test done instead of only finding out once you started having symptoms.”

Harry just stares, because right now he doesn’t know how to do anything else. He doesn’t even feel sick, his hair isn’t falling out. How can he have cancer? He remembers his mother… she’d had pancreatic cancer, death was painful but at least relatively short for her. Harry doesn’t really know that much about cancer but he knows that leukemia is different. It’s a horrible wasting death in a hospital bed with IVs of poison going into your body, and it’s how his grandfather - his mother’s father - had passed away. Cancer runs in families. He thinks maybe he should’ve expected this, but… but he’s not that old…

“How did… Doc, I don’t feel sick.”

“Your white blood cells look unhealthy. We have to run tests and then see. It may not be a death sentence, Harry. We’re going to do everything possible.”

“I know you will, but I could still die.”

“Yes, you could,” Doc Hayward agrees, almost whispering. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

Harry just sits there like an idiot. When his mother got sick, he remembers his aunt telling him that he couldn’t cry around her - first of all because he was a man, and second of all because that’s just something you shouldn’t do. It distracts the person from dying and then they suffer longer. Harry was about to turn thirty years old at the time. During the short handful of months he had left with his mother, Harry never cried in front of her, so when he sat down at her funeral he started crying and just couldn’t stop. He wonders now how many people will visit him while he’s sick and refuse to cry in front of him, and how many will cry at his own funeral. Frank and his dad probably won’t. His dad may not even show up. Lucy and Andy will cry. Dale will…

Oh Jesus, Dale. What’s Harry going to say to him?

“I’ll be by tomorrow for the biopsy,” Harry confirms. It’s the only thing he can think of to say.

“Would you like me to call Agent Cooper for you?”

Would he? No, he wouldn’t like that. “I’ll call him.”

When Doc Hayward’s out of his office (thankfully shutting the door behind him), Harry dials the phone with numb fingers. He doesn’t know what he’ll say. How do you say something like this?

Several rings and then a soft click. “You’ve reached the office of Special Agent Dale Cooper of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m not currently present in my office but if you leave your name, phone number, and a brief message I’ll contact you as soon as I’m able. Unless you’re Albert Rosenfield, in which case please tell Diane and she’ll pass it along to me.”

Beep. “Dale it’s Harry… I… something’s wrong. I need to talk to you. I’m sorry for calling your office, it’s important. I’m sorry.”

Harry hangs up and puts his head down on his desk. If he got the answering machine it means Dale’s probably in a meeting, so who knows when he’ll actually hear the message. Harry still doesn’t know how he’ll explain this. He’s not young anymore, but he’s still not old enough for cancer. Cancer is an old person’s disease. He doesn’t feel sick, how can he have cancer if he feels fine? And when he’s done figuring out how he’ll tell Dale, how’s he going to tell everyone else? They’ll all ask questions… Dale will ask questions, too, but the important and logical ones. Nobody else will, they’ll want to know how he got sick (he doesn’t know) and how long it’ll be until this kills him (he doesn’t know that, either).

Harry’s phone rings. He’s scared to pick it up. He doesn’t know what to tell Dale.

He does pick it up, though, because there’s no other choice. “Sheriff Truman.”

“Harry what happened? You sounded like something is deeply disturbing your life. Is it about the case you’re working on?”

“No, it’s not that…” He doesn’t know how to say this and the words just come out with no preparation. “Dale I have cancer.”

Silence.

Harry takes a deep breath. “Doc Hayward says my blood looks unhealthy.”

Silence.

“I have a biopsy tomorrow at the hospital.”

Silence.

“He thinks I have leukemia,” Harry whispers. His throat closes and he can’t say anything else.

Finally, there’s a shuddering breath from the other end. “Will you be alright until I get home? I can come home right now if you want.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble with Garland, you did this last week too…”

There’s a pause. “Speaking of Garland. He’s in my proximity as we speak, and wants to know why I’m sitting at my desk crying. What should I tell him?”

“I don’t know. The truth.” Harry needs a moment for this information to sink in - Dale’s at his desk crying. “Dale are you okay?”

It’s a stupid thing to ask and he’s glad there’s no answer; Dale must be talking to Major Briggs. Finally there’s noise from the other end again and Dale comes back. “He’s now ordering me to go home and take care of you.”

“I’m still at work.”

“I’ll bring food.”

Food? No. Harry can’t eat right now. “Okay.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Thanks, Dale. Don’t tell anyone else, though. Please. I can’t deal with that right now.”

“I won’t,” Dale promises.

They hang up and Harry remembers that he has paperwork. He doesn’t know what else to do now, so he starts in on that. Law enforcement won’t be put on hold just because he’s suddenly dying. It takes him ten minutes to write a full sentence because his brain won’t cooperate. It’s too busy dragging back images of his mother losing all her hair before she died… he got his curls from her, when he was little Frank would tease him about it. But her hair fell out. They tried similar poisons on her to the ones his grandfather had to take, and all it did was make her bald. She was still in pain and she still died.

Now Harry will go through chemotherapy. All his hair will fall out. He’ll be skinny and ugly when he dies in a hospital bed, just like his grandfather. And it’ll be such a long time… his mother died quickly, she didn’t have to suffer as long. But it could take years for Harry to go.

He can’t help comparing the two - he was six when his grandfather got sick, and in 1952 cancer was only whispered about, never spoken out loud. But the whole house was sick for three years. Never speaking about the issue, only telling him over and over that he should play outside because his grandfather needed “rest,” even when it was raining and snowing. Hiding this illness from him and from Frank, because they were children who supposedly wouldn’t understand. But one day, shortly before it happened, Harry and Frank were brought to the hospital to visit him. They’d barely seen him while he was sick and it was so terrible that Harry cried himself to sleep for almost a year, until he was ten and a half and his aunt scolded him because crying was only for girls. It was always his aunt and his father telling him to be tougher. He hadn’t cried at her funeral a few years ago, because she never liked him to begin with.

On the other hand he was a grown man when his mother died. He cried at her funeral just like he cried at his grandfather’s, and living alone there was nobody to stop him from crying himself to sleep after. He’d been able to mourn because his aunt no longer controlled him. His mother had never punished him for crying. But he still tries not to cry when people can see him. He cried when Josie died, but he’d been drunk then. He cried when Dale was missing, but nobody else was there to witness it. He cried when Dale was hurt after escaping the Lodge. Dale was so badly injured that Harry’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember that.

Harry picks up his pen again and stares at the paperwork in front of him - he should really be getting it done. It’s important. He has to do his job. How long has he been sitting here, doing nothing and looking through the wall?

“Sheriff Truman?”

“Yeah, Lucy.”

“Agent Cooper is here and he looks unhappy.” Well, that answers that.

“Send him in.”

Dale appears, closing the door most of the way like he always does. True to his word, he’s got takeout from the Double R, even though Harry’s pretty sure neither of them are going to take a single bite.

“You have a biopsy tomorrow?” Dale asks quietly, setting everything on Harry’s desk and then standing there, perfectly still.

“Yeah. I have to take the whole day off work for it.” Harry rubs his face. “Uh. There’s a little bit of good news. I don’t have any STDs.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s…” Dale makes a face like something’s been stuffed into his throat but it’s too big to swallow. “Is there anything I can do?”

Harry needs to know. “Will you cry at my funeral?”

“I won’t, because there isn’t going to be one. Not everyone with a cancer diagnosis dies from it and the survival rates continue to improve with each passing year. I don’t believe this is the end for you, Harry. It’ll be morbid and uncomfortable and downright painful for you at times, but I have a strong feeling that you’ll survive.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“Because the fact remains that this illness will be morbid, uncomfortable, and downright painful for you. All of those things are extremely unsatisfactory to me when put in the context of your life.”

It’s stupid that hearing all this from Dale makes Harry start to feel a little better. He doesn’t usually understand Dale’s premonitions and dreams and feelings about things, but he does trust them and he’s seen them come true way too often to be written off as coincidence or dumb luck. So on some level, he trusts that Dale may be right and it’s not the end for him, even though he’s watched two loved ones die from this awful sickness. And god, he wants Dale to be right.

Harry gets up from his desk and hugs Dale, who shakes and cries silently into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. He doesn’t usually see his boyfriend anything less than perfectly composed and stable, so this is rattling him a little. But he also knows that part of being so in tune with the vibrations of the universe is being really emotionally sensitive, which Dale is. Dale feels too much and too strongly - he’s just usually a lot better at dealing with it, at turning it into something positive.

“I want you to stop dropping everything and come running every time I’m having problems at work,” Harry tells him, as gently as he can. “You’re going to get in trouble for it.”

“Harry this is far from a problem that’s confined only to your office here,” Dale points out. It’s amazing how steady and normal his voice is right now. “You’re being presented with a variety of difficulties and I want to help you tackle them if I can.”

Harry can’t think of anything to say to that, so he keeps hugging Dale and letting the tears soak into his work shirt. He’s glad nobody told Dale not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Harry is given a life-threatening medical diagnosis which he has a family history of and which he remembers in detail.  
2\. Depictions of the casual emotional abuse of children that was characteristic to the 1950s as Harry remembers it.  
3\. Minor references to homophobia as relating to the case Harry's working on, but nothing too graphic.


	8. Improperly Managed Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warnings in end notes.

In a fortunate moment of time for Dale, Major Briggs has turned out to be surprisingly tolerant of the fact that he’s in a relationship with Harry. In his experience members of the armed forces tend to be especially closed-minded on the topic, but the explanation he received was something to the effect of their relationship being acceptable because they were both good, honorable, intelligent men. Presumably this means that if Dale was anything less than good and honorable in Major Briggs’ eyes it would not be deemed acceptable, but he’ll take what he can get and what he gets is excused on sick leave for the remainder of the work week. This adds an eighth person to the list of individuals who are aware of the fact that Dale and Harry are seeing each other. It won’t be a secret much longer.

However, the important part of this turn of events is that Dale is available to transport his boyfriend to and from the appointment for the bone marrow biopsy. Allegedly it was to take forty five minutes at most. When Dale checks his watch, eighty six minutes have elapsed since they arrived. In an attempt to quell his mounting nervousness Dale tries to slip into a meditative state in the waiting room chair, but is met with a sudden and inexplicable spearing pain near the region of his lower right back. It’s brief but agonizing and jars him abruptly back into full wakefulness.

Dale compulsively checks his watch every thirty seven seconds to the exact. He takes a brief moment to be grateful that he chose to dress down today; as professional and tidy as his dark suits are, Dale does appreciate the degree of comfort and freedom of motion afforded by more casual attire.

Shortly after reaching the ninety three minute mark, a nurse addresses him by proxy: “For Harry Truman?”

Dale follows her down two hallways and into a room, where Harry sits shaking on a table only partially dressed and vomiting into a basin. Dale examines the context and bodily expression, determining that Harry is in some extreme amount of pain and is unable to proceed on his own.

“Will it be possible to receive a copy of his care instructions in print?” Dale asks.

“Of course.”

“I’d also like to speak with the hematologist or oncologist who performed this procedure if that’s alright.” Dale needs to know why Harry’s behaving this way, as specifically as possible. It seems important for him to understand why Harry is in so much pain.

“An intern was set to learn this procedure. He accidentally forced the instrument into an area of the bone that wasn’t anesthetized and the process had to be repeated,” the nurse explains, apparently understanding what Dale’s looking for. “We gave him a dose of morphine but he keeps saying it didn’t help.”

“It _ didn’t _ help,” Harry insists, finally setting the basin aside and wiping his mouth. He’s shivering with pain. “All it did was make me sick.”

Dale assists Harry in getting dressed, supporting a significant amount of his weight on the side of the procedure site while he puts on his jeans and shortly following rolling his socks onto his feet for him while he sits. Even with help, Harry is still clearly in a tremendous amount of pain, which is precisely what Dale was afraid of yesterday discussing the issue of leukemia in Harry’s office. This is surely a precursor to many further visits to doctors’ offices and time spent in the hospital. A difficult factor that Dale inexplicably failed to account for is the fear - Harry is so very afraid, not only of the disease itself but of the treatments and the poking and prodding of medical personnel and the bloodwork. Dale somehow didn’t notice it until this morning as they were driving to Calhoun Memorial Hospital, the fact that Harry is scared. It’s something Dale’s never seen before and he failed to anticipate it.

“I think you should take tomorrow off work as well,” Dale suggests while gradually and carefully walking him out to the parking lot.

“No, I have to be around…” Harry shakes his head. “Case something happens to that kid…”

“Hawk is more than capable of handling that for you if the need arises.”

“They don’t know I’m dying.”

“That’s because you aren’t. You should explain the situation to them once the results of the biopsy arrive. Harry… please understand that this is too big to hide. If you leave them with no information, they’ll be left to speculate and worry endlessly.”

“I don’t want them to know. Then they’ll walk around all day looking at me but not being allowed to cry…”

Dale gathers from this that Harry can definitely be classified as “high” right now due to the opioids and that there’s a story here. “I promise that anyone is allowed to cry whenever they need and as much as they like,” Dale tries to reassure him.

“Nope.” Harry shakes his head. They’re almost to the doors. “You can’t cry near people with cancer. It distracts them from dying, they just suffer longer…”

“I don’t think that’s true. If you need to cry, then you should. It’s more honest.”

Harry leans a little more heavily into the arm Dale placed across his back and rests his head on Dale’s shoulder as they hobble out of the building together.

“Dale…?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“…I’m gonna do my best to not throw up in your car,” Harry promises.

Dale feels guilty for smiling at that, but it’s unavoidable. “I would appreciate it. We’ll drive slowly with your window down so you can lean out if you need to vomit.”

The process of getting Harry into the car is a chore. While he’s in pain regardless, certain motions severely exacerbate the problem. Ultimately Harry sits on the edge of the seat and Dale manually repositions him until he’s properly placed, which takes almost five minutes because it needs to be done slowly. He rolls down the window before closing the door, and shortly following they’re on their way home.

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“Disregarding the obvious, what are you so worried about?”

“I don’t want to be bald.” Harry visibly sinks back into the seat and closes his eyes. “I had to shave my head when I was in the guard and it looked stupid on me. You could see how big my ears really are. My mother went bald before she died, too. From the chemo.”

This small piece of information explains a great deal of context and Dale elects not to press further on an issue that he can very easily deduce for himself.

“It may not be permanent. Your hair could grow back.”

“I don’t want it to go in the first place.” Harry reaches across and rests a palm on Dale’s forearm. “I know how much you like my hair.”

“I enjoy your hair very much, but given the choice between you being bald and you being dead…”

“I’ll be… be dead anyway…”

Harry cuts himself off to clumsily lean his head out the window. Dale pulls over and waits, placing a hand on his shoulder in order to offer reassurance. It occurs to him that it may be the pain as much as the morphine making Harry ill; he’s read accounts of extreme physical discomfort causing nausea. When Harry leans back into the car, he groans once he’s fully positioned in the seat.

“How does it feel? Can you describe the pain?”

“It feels like three giant metal rods got stabbed into my hipbone. They did it wrong the first time too, so the first giant metal rod had to go twice.” Harry shakes his head slightly. “I broke my arm falling out of a tree when I was a kid… this is the worst pain I’ve ever been in. The whole time they were doing it all I could do was just lie there and scream.”

Dale flinches when he hears that. “I thought there was a local anesthetic…”

“It didn’t do shit.”

“I may be able to help you manage some of your pain,” Dale offers.

“How?”

“I’ll try to talk you into a meditative state. Essentially, since you wouldn’t be doing this for spiritual reasons, the goal would be to help your mind stop noticing that your body is in pain.”

“How does that work?”

“You’ll have to trust me, Harry. If I explain the mechanism of action you may overthink things and it’ll prevent you from achieving that goal.”

In the periphery of his vision, Dale sees his boyfriend nod slightly. “I trust you, Coop.”

The conversation dies for the remainder of the drive and Dale becomes preoccupied with thoughts of holes being put through Harry’s bones - in the waiting room he’d experienced a moment of indescribable pain in precisely the same region of his body as Harry’s incision site. Dale recalls with mild apprehension that a similar phenomenon had occurred during his ill-fated affair with Caroline… at times, he’d felt when she was afraid. Intangible threads are now being run between him and Harry, increasing Dale’s awareness of his boyfriend’s state of mind. With Caroline, it hadn’t lasted long due to her death. He’s curious to see how it might play out as his relationship with Harry progresses, and the notion isn’t unwelcome for Dale by any stretch.

When they’ve returned home, Dale opens all the doors first before carefully extracting Harry from the car. He makes mental notes of precisely which movements draw small pain-noises and at what speed so that they can be avoided in the future. Harry is ultimately situated on the bed and Dale closes the doors on his car and the house before removing his boyfriend’s shoes.

“Aside from the incision site, are you reasonably comfortable or would you like pajamas?”

“This is fine.”

Dale sits upright on the bed with Harry’s head in his lap, playing with his boyfriend’s hair for a brief moment. Admittedly he’s not especially thrilled with the idea of Harry going bald from cancer treatments, but Harry’s not old so that may only be a temporary condition.

“Close your eyes to start with,” Dale gently instructs. “If any thoughts come into your head, do your best not to dwell on them. Focus on my voice and let those thoughts float away like clouds.”

“Okay.”

“Imagine yourself getting less dense… not less heavy, but less dense, you’re spacing apart. If you stood up from the bed you’d go floating away to the ceiling. Can you feel it, Harry?”

“Yes,” he murmurs.

“Good… alright, very slowly, you’re going back to normal now. With each passing second you’re drawing back in to your original density… and you start to surpass it. It’s not that you get heavier, you’re just drawing in, becoming more dense so that you sink further into the bed. Maybe you’re not capable of moving your arms and legs while you sink. But it’s a nice, comfortable feeling. You’re deep inside the mattress. How do you feel?”

“Heavy. But it’s good like you said.”

“Perfect. And slowly you start to get less dense again… you’re spacing back out, you can go back to normal now. It’s gradual. But you’re returning to your original state. You’re doing very well… are you back to normal, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Dale smiles - he sounds so calm. “Alright. Now picture behind your eyes… a small ball of light, in a soothing color. Perhaps light blue or gold. Focus on that for a moment.” He thinks. It’s been awhile since he’s needed this technique to meditate, this is a very basic method. Originally he was told to go to a beach, but he doesn’t know if Harry’s been to the ocean, so that may not work. “This light starts to spread out, very gently. It comes to you and when it passes you, you’re standing in the grass. It’s a nice meadow by Pearl Lakes, a beautiful day out, and you have your fishing rod and your tackle box. The birds all sing. There’s a small, cool breeze across the lake. You have no responsibilities now, just sunlight and calm water. It doesn’t even matter if you don’t catch a single fish, because it’s peaceful.” Dale strokes his head. “You can open your eyes now, Harry.”

Harry does, and he smiles. “You were there, too.”

Dale bends down and kisses his forehead. “How do you feel now?”

“A lot better. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Somewhat graphic depictions of the side effects of a painful medical procedure, including vomiting.
> 
> Please also note that I read up a lot on bone marrow biopsies in preparation for writing this, including patient comments. Many of them were exactly as horrible as what's presented here or worse. Don't get cancer, people.


	9. Death Sentence

Harry sits at the conference room table and unclenches his fist - his death sentence leaves his grip, not too badly crumpled that he can’t still read it. All his officers and both his deputies are watching him while Lucy passes around mugs of coffee.

“I have an announcement,” he starts. “And nobody’s going to like it, so brace yourselves if you can. Recently I had some bloodwork done and they saw something weird in it. The reason I was off work three days ago is because I had to have another test run, and… it’s a good thing they found this by accident instead of waiting for symptoms to start showing up. The earlier they find stuff like this, the better shot at recovery you have… supposedly. But that test was a biopsy. I have leukemia.”

Lucy actually drops the coffee pot - it doesn’t break, but they’ll have to clean the carpet now. Besides that, there’s silence. Harry doesn’t even think any of them can remember that they’re supposed to be breathing. The thing that jars everyone back to the real world is the sadly predictable sound of Andy breaking down in tears. At least Lucy is there to comfort him, even though her own shock and dismay.

“But boss, you don’t look sick,” Officer Walsh comments.

“I know. They said that… it’s really early, so symptoms won’t show up for probably a few more weeks. A couple months, tops. I’m going to start having treatments before that happens, but they ran some other tests yesterday and depending what those say I might have to go to a hospital out of town. This is going to be a really long, annoying process for me, and just so you’re all aware, it might turn out that I won’t be able to keep doing my job when it’s over.”

He doesn’t add that he isn’t expecting to live that long. Doc Hayward insisted that with such early treatment and his lack of other health issues he’s got a good chance of survival, but Harry doesn’t believe that. Not after what he saw as a kid.

Hawk is practical: “How can we make this easier for you, Harry?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

Harry tries to smooth out the medical report on the table, and around him there’s some similar fidgeting. Nobody drinks their coffee and the donuts in the center of the table remain untouched. It’s unnatural.

Lucy pulls a still-sobbing Andy out of his chair; she’s got tears running down, too. “E-excuse us for a minute please, Sheriff.” They leave to probably go cry in the interrogation room or something.

“I know this is… really hard for everyone to think about.” Harry looks between their faces and then back to the papers in front of him. “But we still have jobs to do. Ashbrook, you’re going to keep checking the school periodically between patrols in case something happens to Jeffrey Greer. Matthews, Catherine Martell called in about a bear a few minutes ago, I want you to go check it out. Walsh, your arrest report for the drunk and disorderly is overdue. This should go without saying but I’ll bring it up anyway… please, nobody talk about this around town. That’s it.”

Harry retreats to his office, which is probably the wrong choice but he can’t face any of their questions right now. He has some busywork to occupy his hands (if not his mind) with for at least a couple hours, it’ll be more than enough to keep him at his desk until everyone’s out of the station for the morning. In a few minutes he’ll go find Andy. Dale will call at around 11:00 to ask what he wants for lunch and bring it promptly at 12:05. Doc Hayward might call this afternoon with his test results, too, so unless something really serious happens Harry needs to be planted in the station all day as it is. That’s not too much of a hardship, though; Harry’s a bad liar and he knows it. Being out in the community, people will be able to tell that something’s up, and he can’t deal with it right now.

Surprisingly, his miserable thoughts are interrupted by Lucy coming into his office. Her makeup is smudged.

“Sheriff, Andy may be incapacitated by the bad news you shared with us this morning.”

“I was gonna go talk to him in a few minutes anyway,” Harry sighs, getting up from his chair and following her to the kitchen.

Andy is crying into his coffee. “I’m sorry, Sheriff Truman,” he wavers before taking a huge gulp and refilling his mug.

“It’s okay, Andy. I don’t like it, either.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Andy sobs briefly and drinks down half of his cup. “Does this mean they put you in a machine that radiates you? I heard it’s like a microwave oven, I don’t know how that helps.”

“Well, we don’t actually know yet. They have to do more tests for that.” Harry finds himself sighing again. “Andy, when you’re finished drinking that, I want you to go sit somewhere and eat exactly three and a half donuts. But make sure you cut the last donut in half instead of just eating it down, and it needs to be exact. If you don’t get it right the first time, just take a fresh one and start over.”

“Okay, Sheriff.”

When Andy disappears, Lucy gives Harry a confused look. “Why does it have to be exact?”

“Because he’ll screw up a bunch of times, so it’ll take him awhile and distract him from being sad,” he admits.

She nods. “I hope your tests turn out well and you get better soon, Sheriff.”

“It’ll be a few months at least. I don’t think that’s all that soon. But thank you.”

“Is Agent Cooper going to be okay? If you have to go to some hospital out of town like you said, won’t he get lonely?”

“He has to work. I already talked about this with him, don’t worry.”

“But won’t he get lonely without you?” Lucy repeats.

“Yeah. He’ll drive out to see me on weekends if I have to go out of town.”

“Do you want us to visit you, too?”

It takes him a second to come up with an answer to that one. “Lucy, have you ever seen a cancer patient when they’re in the hospital before?”

“No.”

“I don’t want visitors while I’m gone. I won’t… be _ me. _ I won’t look like how I’m supposed to look and I’ll be really sick. I don’t want people seeing me like that. You and Andy and Hawk can call if you want, I’ll have Dale give you the number, but I don’t want to be seen like that.”

“Okay, Sheriff.”

“Do you understand? It’s not personal.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Okay. Once Andy’s figured out the donuts, tell him I want him to drink four more cups of coffee.”

“But he’ll spend all day in the bathroom from drinking so much.”

“That’s the point. I can’t send him home from work like this, but I don’t have anything for him to do. So unless something comes up that I can send him out to deal with, there’s other ways to keep him busy.”

On that note, Harry pours himself a mug before going back to his office.


	10. The Necessity Of Unconventional Means To Distract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warnings in end notes.

The phone rings exactly one and a half times.

“Agent Rosenfield, how may I disembowel corpses for you today?”

“Albert, it’s Cooper.”

“Well, you’re calling me directly instead of forwarding whatever you have to say through those damn audiotapes to Diane, so I can only assume you’re finally giving up on that little house on the prairie fantasy up in hicksville that you have going?”

Dale can usually be patient with Albert, but these are unusual circumstances. “Albert, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, cut the crap. I need your help.”

“What happened.”

“Harry has recently received a life-threatening medical diagnosis and will need to receive specialized care at a research hospital in Seattle. The health insurance he has is wholly inadequate to mitigate the cost of such care.”

A brief moment of quiet precedes Albert’s next words. “What kind of cancer does he have?”

“An aggressive form of leukemia. You may not be aware of this, but a significant amount of my paychecks go to the care of my mother.”

“Yeah, I knew that.” Albert sighs. “Send me the paperwork, I can pick up half the tab on your mom’s monthly expenses so that your boyfriend can get his chemo.”

“Thank you, Albert. You’re a good friend.”

“I do my best. If you want I can go cheat at cards somewhere and throw you some extra cash.”

Dale would very much like to remind Albert that card-counting is illegal, but he’s performed such acts on occasion so to say so would be hypocritical. “If you choose to do that, it’s your prerogative. Don’t get caught.”

“I never have and I never will,” Albert assures him. “Coop you should know, even with my help he could end up with some crippling hospital bills after. Be prepared for that as much as you can, but don’t tell him about it. Get him to focus on nothing else besides getting better.”

“I’ll make every effort. Thank you, Albert.”

The conversation ends there and Dale resumes his careful calculations - he isn’t completely informed on the costs of cancer treatments, but he can make rough estimates. He scratches Albert’s pending contributions into the page of his notebook and thinks. This isn’t a task with a set deadline and it’s unlikely he’ll complete it by the end of the day, but some amount of progress would be desirable. Unfortunately he also has limited time to spend on this. Audrey Horne will be graduating high school in less than three weeks and her father is throwing her a party at the hotel this afternoon; she invited him and Harry both, supposedly for rescuing her from One Eyed Jack’s. In Harry’s case, it seems plausible that that’s the real reason, but for Dale it’s much more likely that he’s been invited due to her still having a crush on him.

Personally, Dale thinks it’s important for them to go, if for no other reason than it’ll provide a temporary distraction from the fact that he’ll be taking Harry to the hospital on Monday. Besides this, Audrey’s also his friend, and after the various ordeals she’s recently endured it’ll soothe his mind a little if he sees her, normal and happy. Dale would like very much for her to be happy.

“I don’t have anything nice to wear,” Harry complains, disrupting his solitude.

“What did you wear to Dougie Milford’s wedding?”

“My work uniform.”

“Would you like to borrow one of my shirts?” he offers.

“I don’t think it’d fit, you’re too skinny.”

Dale gives Harry his best smile. “And here I was under the impression that you appreciate my lean physique.”

His boyfriend turns pink. Good. If he’s embarrassed and turned on and embarrassed _ about _ being turned on, he’s not thinking about being sick. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Harry, I guarantee nobody will ostracize you if you wear your work uniform. It looks nice on you to begin with and besides that there’s very little if anything they could do about it,” Dale assures him. “And to further illustrate that there’s no need for concern, bear in mind that technically speaking I’ll also be attending this party in my work clothes.”

“Yeah, but your ‘work clothes’ are a lot dressier than mine to begin with.”

Dale gets up from the couch and enters the bedroom so that he can also get dressed and is promptly distracted by the fact that Harry’s there in a black short-sleeved undershirt, boxers, and nothing else. He briefly considers attempting something that would make them late for Audrey’s party.

“You look like you’re gonna start drooling,” Harry teases.

“You’re very attractive undressed.”

“Only undressed?”

“No. You’re always attractive, but the form of attractiveness varies depending on what you’re wearing,” Dale grins. He pries his vision away from his boyfriend and sets about compiling one of his suits. He elects for a blue tie. “Remember that you’re my cowboy, Harry. Cowboys are attractive.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Harry’s blushing has intensified. It’s a satisfying idea.

“If you say so, Coop,” Harry mumbles, his tone of voice indicating that he’s unable to come up with any other response.

They dress in their respective uniforms despite the May heat. Dale wears extra deodorant to combat the temperature and foregoes an undershirt, while Harry simply rolls up his sleeves. He does, however, wear his trademark Stetson hat, looking every bit the part of Dale’s cowboy. Dale’s long since suspected that Harry won’t be caught dead in public without his hat and theorizes this may be a holdover from being in the national guard, seeing how he only removes it when setting foot indoors.

On their arrival at the Great Northern, Dale is immediately and strongly under the impression that Harry feels out of place, so they both take seats at the outer edge of the lobby and wait for Audrey to notice that they’re here. Dale doesn’t intend for them to stay for this entire event, only long enough to ensure that she’s doing well. Afterwards they’ll go home, eat, and start packing Harry’s things for the hospital. That thought depresses him - it’ll be several weeks at least where he’ll be alone in the house, only having time to visit his boyfriend during the weekend.

Dale’s eyes find Audrey when she comes into the room - she’s clustered with three other girls, presumably school friends and which Dale assumes are also graduating soon. Additionally, he notes Ben Horne standing in the corner, keeping a watchful eye on things. When Audrey notices Dale, he waves and smiles to indicate that yes, he would like for her to come talk with him.

Audrey hugs them both, but it lasts longer for Dale. He expected this. “How are you?” he asks.

“Better than I was a few weeks ago,” she admits. “You know you still have to do homework in the hospital?”

Dale chuckles. “Your education is important, especially if you’re pursuing business with your father.”

Audrey makes one of her typical, slightly disdainful expressions that she has at the mention of Ben. Clearly despite her recent career choices they still have a ways to go before they trust each other, but Dale doesn’t dwell on this because strictly speaking it’s not his business unless both of them ask him to interfere. (He hopes they won’t, he’s had more than enough of the antics of Benjamin Horne.)

“There’s going to be music in a couple minutes, will you dance with me?” she asks.

Dale exchanges a look with Harry, whose expression is amused and not the least bit jealous - it clearly reads _ I don’t mind. _

“Alright,” he nods, pleased that Harry isn’t up in arms about this. He wasn’t expecting anything like that as it is, but he’s still glad that they already understand each other so well.

Audrey pulls him away by his hand and shortly following, as promised, there’s music. Audrey’s friends, while dancing, are also looking at both of them and whispering to each other. Dale expected nothing less from a bunch of seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds.

Audrey puts her head on his chest. “There’s scars all over my back,” she confesses, quietly enough that he almost doesn’t catch her words over the ambient noises.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Dale answers, trying to reassure her. “Besides your back, how are you?”

“Sometimes my ears ring… the explosion had nothing to do with me. I wish I went there a day earlier or something.”

“Audrey, I believe I speak for everyone when I say that I’m glad you’re still alive and talking after that, and that I wish there’s something I could’ve done to help.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them. Dale predicts that Audrey will do one of two things within the next two to five minutes: either she’ll continue speaking about her injuries, or she’ll make a pass at him which he’ll of course refuse. It takes less time than that… after sixty two seconds, she goes right for the throat.

“So, Agent Cooper. Did I mention I’m graduating in three weeks?”

Dale smiles, but also sighs. “Audrey… I’m sorry, but I’m seeing someone now.”

“Weren’t you seeing Norma’s sister? I thought she left.”

“She did. It’s not her that I’m seeing.” He considers how much he can say within a realm of safety and comes to the conclusion _ not much. _ “I don’t necessarily believe we’d work particularly well as a couple considering the age gap, and also due to the fact that you’ve noted on several occasions your ambitions to see more of the country and the world at large. I’m stationary, now, and couldn’t provide that for you. However, as I’ve said on multiple occasions, I’ll always be your friend. I’m confident that you’ll soon meet a wonderful man who’s capable of giving you the life you want, and when you do, I’ll be exceedingly happy for you.”

Audrey nods, looking slightly grudging about it. For all the childishness Dale had seen only three months ago, she handles rejection rather gracefully, and he’s thankful for it.

“So… are you going to tell me about this girl you’re seeing?”

“Some other time. This relationship is new and delicate, I’m not ready to share it yet. Have you seen flower gardens? The owners of such gardens don’t invite people to see them until everything’s taken root and come into bloom, otherwise they might spoil their luck.”

It’s a terrible excuse, to say nothing of the fact that it’s a complete lie, but Audrey falls for it because he words it poetically. Dale doesn’t feel good about being so untruthful with her, but to behave otherwise would at the very least end Harry’s career and his long-term sick leave is critical now. Someday, he knows he’ll tell her the truth. That time simply hasn’t arrived yet.

After a certain point Dale relinquishes Audrey to dance with her friends and returns to Harry. “She’s doing well.”

“Yeah, I figured, since she’s making you dance with her and having a party in the first place.”

Dale notes Harry’s demeanor of mild discomfort. “I think we’ve been here for long enough, we don’t have to stay for the whole thing.”

He makes sure to catch Audrey’s eyes again so that he can smile and wave goodbye before they make their escape from the hotel. In the car they readjust for the temperature - Harry’s shirt is both untucked and unbuttoned, while Dale sheds his suit jacket and undoes his tie. They both roll down their windows.

“I kinda like that on you,” Harry comments from the passenger side.

“Like what on me?”

“The whole… messy, undone look.”

Dale laughs. “It’s too hot to keep up appearances and I’m not at work.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying I like it.”

“You like me in most things.”

“Yeah, that does seem to be the long and short of it. You always look good.”

Dale would like very much to start kissing Harry, but it’s not possible so long as he’s driving. It’ll have to wait until they get home and he feels a mild tug of impatience. However, if Harry’s expression, body language and tone of voice are anything to go by, it’s almost a guarantee that he’s experiencing similar thoughts. Dale smiles. Tomorrow will be a long and possibly frightening day for Harry, so this afternoon Dale’s going to make the best effort possible to distract him with sex. As he drives, he plans.

Ultimately he opts for a somewhat subtle approach, predicting Harry’s behavior in advance and using it to his advantage.

“I can’t help noticing the way you’re watching me,” he smiles, deliberately slowing the speed at which he unbuttons his dress shirt.

“Coop, I don’t know if you noticed lately, but you _ are _ really handsome,” Harry points out, wearing an expression akin to that of a stray dog looking at a raw steak.

“Paintings in art museums are also rather attractive,” Dale answers, still smiling. “The difference is that I’m not off-limits for you to touch.”

Harry inches closer, hesitant where in any other situation he’d project an air of quiet confidence and authority. Dale waits for him to be within reach, then pulls him into a kiss by the open front of his khaki overshirt. Harry’s palms come to rest on Dale’s shoulders, gradually sliding down his upper arms at first before shifting to finish unbuttoning his dress shirt. Warm fingertips run gently along the skin of his flanks, so lightly that it seems Harry’s trying not to crack him. As amusing as that is, Dale would much prefer to be touched for real, and so takes hold of Harry’s wrists to press those slightly rough hands down a little more insistently. Harry obliges in the span of less than a second.

Dale goes for Harry’s belt and elicits a strong flinch. He pulls away enough for them to make eye contact without straining.

“Harry why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not… I got in trouble for this once.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

Harry sighs through his nose, backing off and sitting on the end of the bed. “Back when I was still in the guard, I got caught with another guy… he was sucking me off and we both got blanket partied. Then the paperwork went through and we were dishonorably discharged. But, if it wasn’t for that, I probably would’ve ended up in ’Nam, so getting my ass beat was worth it in the end.”

Dale nods. This is far from insurmountable. “Harry, you’re no longer in the military and the only two people here are us.”

“I know.”

“May I continue?”

“Dale, you don’t have to… I know I been staring at you all day…”

“Harry, please believe me when I say that I want to. This is an activity I thoroughly enjoy and that I take pride in being skilled at.”

His boyfriend snorts, then grins. “Okay then.”

Dale pulls his dress shirt the rest of the way off and sets it aside, then kneels on the floor and returns his attention to Harry’s belt buckle. He’s been told before by prior boyfriends and girlfriends both that he has an oral fixation, and his current boyfriend will now be the beneficiary of repeated practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Minor depictions of internalized homophobia relating to past violence, but very brief and nothing too graphic.  
2\. Mild sexual content, but nothing too graphic.


	11. The Symbolism Of Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“How long does this keep going for?” Frank asks from the chair on his right.

Harry finishes throwing up, sets the basin aside, and lays back. The head of his bed is raised up some, but he has no idea why. “Two more weeks,” he croaks. “Five days a week for three weeks… sometime next week my hair starts falling out. I can’t even eat right now, I don’t know how I keep getting sick.”

His brother nods slowly with a blank expression. Harry knows that look - Frank wore it right up until their mother’s funeral. And then the subject gets changed, which Harry’s fine with. He doesn’t like talking or thinking about this.

“So this… this man of yours, he’ll be here this weekend?”

“He comes every weekend. Be nice to him.”

“Is he nice to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be nice to him,” Frank grumbles. “What’s his name again?”

“Dale. He’s pretty friendly, he’ll probably like you even if you’re mean to him.”

“So he’s one of those flaming queers? Not the ones who’re quiet about it like you?”

“No. You need to stop saying shit like that.” Harry forces himself to drink - he gets cranberry juice and ginger ale, so usually he mixes them together. What he really wants is an entire bottle of whiskey, but that’s not happening. “He likes girls too.”

“It seems awful convenient to me how you both ‘like girls too.’ Sounds more like an excuse.”

“If you don’t knock it the hell off I’m gonna lean over and puke on you,” Harry growls. It’s an empty threat. He’s way too tired to do anything like that. “Be nice to my boyfriend tomorrow. Be careful, too, he’s psychic.”

Frank snorts. “How have you not been run out of town yet?”

“We haven’t been telling people.”

Harry’s food is brought - dry toast and more ginger ale. There’s no way in hell he’ll be taking a single bite of it, there’s sore spots in his mouth and throat and he’s throwing up every hour. He’s got absolutely no interest in food no matter how often the nurses tell him he should try to choke it down regardless.

Speaking of the nursing staff, one pops up almost immediately after his tray is brought: “Mr. Truman, you have another visitor.”

“Who?” It better not be Lucy.

“A man in a suit, he says he’s a friend of yours.”

“Yeah, send him over.”

Dale arrives in less than a minute. He has flowers.

“You’re early,” Harry grins.

“I came straight from the base, you sounded positively miserable on the phone last night and I can only assume you’re in need of extra love and care after the harsh realities of your treatments.”

Harry wonders what he did to deserve Dale… whatever it was, he’s glad he did it. “So the flowers?”

“Ah yes, the flowers.” Dale sets them aside just long enough to lean in and kiss his forehead. “Traditionally, many of them have greater meaning and symbolism besides looking pleasant.” He picks them up again and starts pointing. “This one is for optimism and long life, so chosen because I have a great amount of the former that you have an excellent chance of retaining the latter. This one is very specific, it symbolizes cheerfulness… I chose it because I thought you could use some right now. This one is for protection or wishes that will come true, both of which I assumed would be helpful. This one is heartfelt emotions, mainly because I have hope that someday you’ll cease living in fear of your own feelings. The one beside it is quite simple, it’s for hope. This one is symbolic of courage, something I’ve found you to have in spades. These two here are strength and success, respectively.”

Harry reels mentally under the shock-load of information, but still smiles and tries to follow the rambling. Every time he thinks he can’t be surprised by Dale anymore, Dale finds something new, and it’s always entertaining.

“Did you spend your day at work researching the meaning behind flowers?”

“No, I came upon this information once during a case and it came in handy.” Of course that’s the answer. Dale knows everything. “In any event, I can only assume that even if you’re not able to completely appreciate the implications of floral arrangements it can at least provide a convenient visual distraction from your discomfort for several days.”

Harry chuckles. “I can appreciate most of it,” he promises. “You talk really fast, so I don’t think I caught everything, but I got the gist.”

Frank shuffles a little in the chair by Harry’s bed. “So, this must be your…”

Harry clears his throat. “Frank, this is Dale, Dale this is my brother. He’s here to give up some bone marrow for me.”

Dale holds out a hand and thankfully Frank shakes. “I can only assume your apprehension is due to the fact that you’re not used to seeing two men in a romantic relationship, so my presence makes you uncomfortable.”

Frank gives Harry a look. Harry just shrugs: “I told you, he’s psychic.”

Dale takes a seat on the other side of Harry’s bed and observes the undisturbed tray. “Harry, you need to eat,” he softly prompts. “If you don’t meet a specific nutritional intake your healing progress will suffer.”

“No, I’m too sick,” Harry argues, sinking back against his bed and closing his eyes. He doesn’t feel like having this conversation. “My stomach hurts, my throat hurts, my mouth hurts…”

“I understand that it’s difficult and uncomfortable, but I’d also like you to regain your health as quickly as possible.” One of Dale’s smooth hands slips into his palm. “I was discussing this problem with Albert over the phone this morning and he told me to inform you that-”

“No, not Albert, he’s such a bastard,” Harry groans.

“He is, yes, but he’s also extremely bright and has an excellent understanding of human physiology.”

“Alright, fine. What did Albert say?”

“He said you need to eat.”

“That’s helpful, Dale, really. I’m glad Albert decided to share his wisdom.”

“So’s he just gonna starve to death?” Frank wonders.

“Unlikely, I’m assuming they’d administer IV nutrition past a certain point. However they try to avoid that due to the fact that it’s less effective. Besides this, unbuttered toast may alleviate some of the nausea without the oral discomfort often experienced by trying to eat saltine crackers post-radiation treatments.”

“Hm.”

“Dale I’ve been throwing up a lot, I don’t want to eat.”

“If you eat, you may have temporary relief from the constant vomiting.”

Harry groans and finally opens his eyes again. “Fine, dammit, hand me the toast.”

Dale obliges with an encouraging smile and Harry grudgingly takes the smallest bite he can off the corner. He drinks some of his cranberry juice/ginger ale cocktail in order to swallow it because there’s not enough spit in his mouth.

“You’ll be happy to hear that I learned from last weekend’s ordeal and packed my own food,” Dale informs him as he takes another tiny bite.

“So let me guess: pie, a different flavor of pie, and then a third flavor of pie for dessert?” Harry chuckles.

“There’s only one flavor of pie, I also have sandwiches and oatmeal. The coffee is passable here.”

“I still don’t get how you’re so damn skinny eating the way you do.”

“I run every morning before work…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You eat a lot of pie?” Frank questions, eyeing Dale’s fit, thin body skeptically.

Dale launches enthusiastically into a rant about the pie at the Double R, and Harry’s just amazed Frank’s getting along with him at all. He expected a lot more friction than this, but his brother is quietly listening to his boyfriend talk the same way most people do. He wonders if it’s just because he’s dying and it’s guilting Frank into behaving.

“Harry, you’re not dying,” Dale insists after glancing at him.

“What?” Frank asks, understandably confused.

“He’s psychic,” Harry says for the third time this afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Somewhat graphic depictions of illness, including vomiting.  
2\. Minor instances of casual homophobia.
> 
> I really did look up the meanings behind a bunch of flowers for this chapter. I can't remember the names of any of them, though.


	12. A Singular Lack Of Comprehension

“Diane, it’s been…” He briefly calculates. “…twenty four days since Harry’s treatments began. Thankfully the cycles of radiation therapy have concluded. This will produce two effects worth noting: first, the physical illness will subside and I no longer have to fear that I’ll suddenly need to escape my office to vomit. More on that later. Second, if all goes well, his hair will grow back in approximately two months. Unfortunately yesterday his treatments included a procedure called a lumbar puncture, which encompasses a needle being inserted into his spine. The purpose of this excruciating ordeal was to test for the presence of leukemia cells in his cerebrospinal fluid. Harry assured me over the phone last night that this time he was properly anesthetized… I, on the other hand, was not, and spent forty five minutes lying on the floor of my office in severe pain. Fortunately nobody encountered me in this state.”

Dale sips his coffee - it’s his fifth mug of the day.

“I can’t recall if I discussed this with you before - it seems unlikely, given the secretive nature of our relationship, but while I was seeing Caroline I began to detect threads of her state of being at random, most notably when she was afraid. A nearly identical phenomenon has appeared over the duration of my relationship with Harry. I feel very much like a puppet, and Harry pulls my strings without realizing it. Due to this extrasensory connection I’ve recently and understandably become intermittently afflicted with sickness and pain. Today when his lab results are given, the determination will be made whether he requires further cycles of radiation therapy or the bone marrow transplant may proceed. I hope for his sake and for his brother’s that the procedure may take place soon - aside from the obvious reasons, they still suffer from an apparently incurable condition known as sibling rivalry.”

Dale finishes his coffee and removes his work clothes before continuing.

“Unfortunately I won’t be able to contact him until later in the evening, I have an appointment with Margaret this afternoon. Deputy Hawk will accompany me for this meeting. Despite insisting that it’s extremely important, neither of them have divulged to me why exactly my presence is required. I’m mildly concerned that I’ll be forced to consume gratuitous amounts of tea and sugar cookies on this excursion.”

He dons more casual attire appropriate for a slightly prolonged march through the forest.

“Despite my slight misgivings about my upcoming conference with Margaret and Hawk, I’m also interested to see if some insight may be provided for my current situation… my dreams have become increasingly more bizarre of late, which is beginning to instill a sense of dread. I recall at the beginning of my investigation into Laura Palmer’s death that she commented on the malicious nature of owls, and in a similar vein the giant at one point informed me that ‘the owls are not what they seem.’ Owls have begun to feature prominently during my nighttime subconscious wanderings. I’d like to ask Margaret if she can elaborate on her prior statement.”

The phone rings, interrupting his train of thought.

“Forgive me, Diane, I’ll have to get back to you on this.” Dale clicks off the recorder and answers. “Cooper here.”

“Agent Cooper, I have some things for you,” comes Lucy’s voice. “Deputy Hawk would like you to know that he’ll be meeting you at the trailhead in half an hour like you agreed. Agent Rosenfield called earlier because he doesn’t know your home number and said he’s sending you a check from his poker winnings and it should arrive at the station in a few days, so when it gets here I’ll call you and let you know so that you can come pick it up, but I also didn’t give Agent Rosenfield your number because I know that’s something you and Sheriff Truman wouldn’t appreciate. Audrey Horne also called and said she’s trying to guilt Ben Horne into donating some money by repeatedly reminding him that you and Sheriff Truman are the ones who rescued her back in March. I hope she can get him to help, he has plenty of money to spare. Catherine Martell has money too, but she won’t help because-”

“That’s alright, Lucy, I wasn’t expecting cooperation from Catherine Martell. Thank you very much for the messages.”

“You’re welcome, Agent Cooper.” She pauses for less than a handful of seconds, but Dale senses discomfort even though the phone. “Will Sheriff Truman be bald when he comes home from the hospital?”

“Yes, Lucy, he will, but I would appreciate it if you don’t draw attention to it when you see him again. He’s very unhappy about it. Eventually it’s going to grow back.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“His chances, all things considered, are quite excellent. I’m confident he has greater than an 80% chance of survival because the disease was caught so early.”

They proceed with goodbyes and Dale replaces the phone. He ties his boots before returning his attention to his tape recorder.

“Diane, I have an update: Audrey is apparently attempting emotional blackmail against her father to coerce him into donating money to what has become known colloquially as the ‘Save Sheriff Truman Fund.’ I’m not entirely certain how it became common knowledge that I’m struggling to foot the bill for his medical expenses, but I’m grateful for the assistance. It brings a wonderful sense of community and removes a large portion of the strain I’ve been experiencing lately. A specialist will be arriving in Seattle to perform the bone marrow extraction and the out-of-pocket cost is quite frankly outrageous. I maintain that Harry will learn nothing of these expenses until he’s safely returned home for his recovery… his focus must be solely dedicated to his treatments.”

Dale slips his tape recorder into his pants pocket and pours himself a sixth cup of coffee for the drive. He’s at least partially grateful that Margaret’s house isn’t completely accessible by road - the hike through the woods isn’t particularly difficult and Hawk isn’t especially talkative most of the time, so Dale may be able to get some thinking done on the walk up. An uneventful drive follows.

“Hawk.” Dale shakes his hand in greeting.

“Coop. You seeing him this weekend?”

“Every weekend, and the nights I can’t see him I call.”

“He won’t let us go see him… how’s he holding up?”

They begin walking into the trees.

“Emotionally or physically?”

“Either. Both.”

“Physically, the radiation has been making him much sicker than the leukemia. However his prognosis is excellent assuming the bone marrow transplant goes well. Emotionally, he’s very upset at the fact that his hair’s fallen out in its entirety. Even his eyebrows are gone and he hasn’t become accustomed to that yet. Frank visits infrequently, but is now looking into lodging in Seattle for the time period where he’ll be donating the new marrow. To put it politely, he drives Harry crazy.”

“Sounds right. Those two never get along.” Dale glances over in time to catch Hawk’s concerned look. “Coop… I’ll give you enough credit to assume you’ve been repeatedly trying to convince him that he isn’t dying. I know at least two relatives on the same side of his family died of cancer, so he’s not going to believe you no matter what you say. But if the spirit is unwell, the body can’t heal.”

“Yes, I’m aware of this. Is there anything specific for me to tell him that you know of?”

“Not to get nosy, but have you said you love him yet?”

“He knows.”

“But you need to tell him. Harry’s love life has been… very unlucky. Josie never said it to him, it’s been years at least since he’s heard it. Makes sense for the one who breaks that trend to be you, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll make a note of it… naturally I’ll be seeing him again in two days, this doesn’t seem like the kind of topic one approaches through a phone line.”

Hawk nods. “Be prepared for him to never say it back, either.”

“This is a fact I’ve already made peace with. I’ve made my best effort not to underestimate the amount of damage that Josie Packard caused… Harry isn’t to blame.”

They continue on in silence and Dale takes this opportunity to appreciate the pleasant smells of the trees. They soothe him like clean bandages over a wound or hot coffee after a nightmare, and before long they’ve arrived at Margaret’s cabin. She opens the door for them just as Dale’s preparing to knock.

“I have tea waiting,” Margaret informs them in place of a greeting, just as he’s been dreading.

“Margaret, may I ask why I was invited here today?” Dale asks as he sits.

Much to his dismay, a plate of cookies is placed in front of him before she answers. He suspects this will take several hours.

“My log has information that you’re going to need.”

Dale nods and briefly shares a look with Hawk. “Margaret at one point I was told ‘the owls are not what they seem.’ Recently, owls have been frequenting my nightmares. Are you able to clarify this any?”

She sits and takes a sip of tea. “My log says you have an incomplete picture. It may have some answers for you, but not all of them.”

“Yes, I’ve suspected my picture of things as they stand is incomplete. When will your log feel it’s appropriate to share its knowledge?”

“We should drink the tea first.”

“Of course.” Dale resigns himself to the task and does his best to enjoy the tea no matter how much he prefers the dark and bitter perfection of coffee. “Does your log speak to you about me often?”

“You’re romantically involved with Sheriff Truman and the government stationed you here to look into the problem with the owls.”

“I’d take that as a yes,” Hawk smirks.

“That makes nine…” Dale murmurs to himself. “If the entire town has found out before Harry returns from the hospital he’s going to be very upset.”

“Coop there’s been rumors for months,” Hawk informs him. “It was never going to stay secret.”

“I understand that, but it would’ve been preferable for it to remain secret for longer than it has. I don’t want to be responsible for Harry losing his job.”

“The rumors have been going around for months and a good chunk of the town is still giving up their cash for his bone marrow surgery.”

Dale questions how he failed to consider that. “It’s not a surgery, once they’re certain his bone marrow has been completely destroyed by the radiotherapy the donations from Frank will be given in the same manner as an ordinary blood transfusion.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Hawk begins munching on a cookie.

“There are sores inside his mouth… he’s losing his voice and he’s been refusing to eat. It causes him too much pain, they’ve placed him on IV nutrition at the beginning of the week. I look forward to this ordeal being over and done with.”

Dale swallows a significant amount of his tea and starts in on his own pile of sugar cookies. He notices Margaret eyeing him and pauses mid-chew.

“My log would like you to know that Sheriff Truman has plenty of time left.”

Dale smiles. “Does your log have an exact number of years?”

“Between twenty six and thirty.”

Thirty years… Dale doesn’t have to perform any mental calculations to decide that this is a very long time. Harry will be seventy three. That’s a perfectly acceptable age to die.

“Thank you, Margaret, I appreciate that very much. I hope this doesn’t seem selfish of me to ask, but does your log know whether I’ll still be with him at that point in time?”

“My log would like you to know that the phrase ‘til death do you part’ becomes significant to your relationship with Sheriff Truman.”

Dale doesn’t know if he can smile wider - they’ll be married. That knowledge has a great many implications and at a later point he’ll be sure to sit and have a long think to unpack them all.

“We’ll all be invited, right Cooper?” Hawk questions in a tone that’s almost teasing.

“Of course.” He finishes the first cookie. “I wouldn’t mind talking about this more, but I also sense that it’s not the reason I was called here.”

“Margaret?” Hawk prompts.

She strokes the log with her fingertips. “I’ll translate… the spirits in the forest are restless. The owls are a threat. They call out for you, Agent Cooper. You’ve escaped them before. They say always the same four words… ‘fire, walk with me.’ But soon you’ll forget. The fire makes you forget.”

Dale’s skin prickles with cold despite the June heat at that phrase. He doesn’t understand how he could ever forget those words. Already in the back of his mind, he plans - he’ll consider this cryptic message in conjunction with his recent resurgence of dreams. In two days, he’ll tell Harry on no uncertain terms how much he loves him.


	13. Cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“How was your breakfast?”

“Harry, I can hear how much it hurts for you to talk right now, you don’t have to,” Dale murmurs, stroking the backs of his knuckles with a thumb. “My breakfast was fine.”

“Okay.” Harry squeezes Dale’s fingers a little. “Monday…”

“Yes, Frank told me when I stopped by his room on the way in. I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but you’re going to be alright.”

“Dale…”

“Harry, you’re going to live for a very long time,” Dale promises. “The log said so.”

Harry snorts and immediately regrets it. “Well, if the _ log _ said so…”

Dale shakes his head and pushes the cup of ginger ale closer. “Harry, please don’t talk.”

Harry grudgingly sips the damn ginger ale and lies back again, noticing for the fourteen thousandth time how much younger and prettier his boyfriend is than him. He’s been thinking about that more and more as the days tick by and he stays tied to an IV bag. He knows how ugly he is right now… radiation, it turns out, is just as bad as chemo. He’s going to be even skinnier than Dale by the time this is over.

A nurse comes in, followed by a cranky-looking security guard. Interesting.

“Mr. Cooper I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“On what grounds?”

“Family members only.”

Dale nods slowly, standing up out of his chair and smiling. This isn’t his normal smile, though, it’s the one he wore when he was interrogating Bobby the first time all those months back. It’s an unfriendly expression, extremely vicious.

“I can only assume this is taking place now and not when I first arrived to visit because it’s recently come to your attention that we’re romantically involved. However you should be made aware that not only have I been indirectly responsible for your paychecks by independently financing the frankly ridiculous costs of his medical treatment, but I’ve also been an employee of the federal government for over eight years. The long and short of this information I’ve just provided you is that I’m absolutely not interested in your unwarranted discomfort. You will continue to treat him until he is cured and you will continue to allow me to visit him while he stays here. This is not up for discussion or debate. You may now leave.”

Neither of them seem to know how to respond to that, and after an awkward pause they both go without a word. Dale sits and takes Harry’s hand again, completely back to normal. This is the most hostile Harry’s ever seen him get.

“Jesus, Coop…”

“They have no right,” Dale murmurs. His other palm now rests softly on the back of Harry’s hand. “I won’t stand for them making your stay here even more miserable than it already is. You’re going to get better and return home, and I’ll be here for those things to happen. It occurs to me now that I should’ve spent more time planning how I’d say this to you, because this seems wholly inadequate, but please hear me and believe me when I say that I love you very much.”

That’s… not what Harry was expecting at all. He can’t even remember the last time someone said that to him.

All he can come up with in reply is a stupid, inarticulate “…really?”

He’s rewarded with a nod and one of Dale’s brightest and most confident smiles. “Yes, really.”

Dale will become vicious and hostile on his behalf with very little provocation. Dale… loves him. Harry doesn’t understand why, but that makes him want to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of systemic homophobia, but brief and nothing too graphic.  
2\. Minor depictions of illness.  
3\. Minor depictions of prior emotional damage.


	14. Fire...

Dale is sitting in his office, contemplating the strange taste in his mouth and his sudden drop in blood pressure, when the fire alarm goes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was on purpose.


	15. Choke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warnings in end notes.

“Something’s wrong,” Harry insists.

“He’s probably still at work,” Frank argues.

“He can call from work.”

“Something probably came up.”

“Nothing just ‘comes up,’ he files reports all day.”

“Maybe he had a meeting or someplace else to go.”

“He would’ve told me.” God, Harry could use a drink. He’s not supposed to drink anymore because it could make his cancer come back, but he really, really needs some whiskey right now. No way in hell can he give up his whiskey. He’s going to drink an entire bottle of it the second he gets home. “Something’s wrong…”

The phone rings. Harry scrambles for it.

“See? He’s only seven minutes late, you’re fine,” Frank snorts.

“Dale?”

“I think I can safely assume from your greeting that this is Coop’s slack-jawed yokel boyfriend,” comes a cranky and sarcastic voice Harry never wanted to hear again.

“Albert… first, how did you get this number, and second why the hell are you hassling me?” Harry demands.

“The curly-blonde girl gave it to me when I called your station. I thought you should know as soon as possible that I’m being sent to investigate a catastrophic fire at the air force base he’s assigned to. I haven’t left yet but I thought you’d appreciate learning about this from a despised acquaintance rather than waiting for him to call you for days on end wondering what happened.”

“So why didn’t he call?”

Albert sighs briefly. “Don’t get hysterical when I say this, but he’s injured in surgery at your town’s pathetic excuse for a hospital. That’s all I’ve been told as yet. As soon as I have more info on his condition, you’ll be the first to hear about it.”

“What kind of injuries?”

“They didn’t say. Injuries. Extensive ones if I understood correctly. I’m taking a red-eye to Seattle and I should be in your middle-of-nowhere by noon tomorrow, local time.”

“Good.” Harry doesn’t know what else to say. Dale’s hurt and had to go under the knife. That thought punches the air out of his lungs. A random idea comes. “Albert if he dies you don’t have permission to do an autopsy, your methods are horrifying.”

“Duly noted. I have to throw together my travel provisions, I may stop in to harass you on my way through.”

“Great.”

They hang up and Harry can’t breathe.

“That didn’t sound like good news.”

“It wasn’t.” Harry can’t breathe. “Dale’s hurt. There was a fire.”

“Who’s Albert?”

“One of Dale’s jackass coworkers.” Harry can’t breathe. Dale’s in surgery and Harry can’t breathe. He’ll never breathe again. “I need to… need to make a phone call…”

“Sure.”

It rings once. “Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Station, how may I help you?”

“Lucy, I need the number for Calhoun Memorial Hospital right now.”

“Sheriff Truman? Did something happen?”

“Lucy please, I need that phone number.”

“Okay, Sheriff.” She lists it for him. “Did something happen?”

“I’m sorry, Lucy, I can’t talk now. Thank you.” Harry hangs up and then dials again.

“Calhoun Memorial Hospital.”

“Can you put me through to Dr. Hayward?”

“One moment, please.”

He’s put through to a second receptionist: “This is the office of Dr. William Hayward, how may I help you this evening?”

“I need to speak with Doc Hayward as soon as possible. Is he available?”

“May I ask who’s calling, please?”

“Sheriff Truman.”

“One moment please, Sheriff.”

A click, and finally: “Harry… how did you find out so quickly?”

“What’s happening to him? Is he going to be okay?”

Doc Hayward sighs. “They got him on the table two and a half hours ago. There was a skull fracture and a subdural hematoma… Agent Cooper has a traumatic brain injury but we don’t know how bad, there’s no telling right now for sure. There’s a crush fracture to his left hand that needs reconstructive surgery. He broke his collarbone and his shoulder blade on the left side as well. Apparently part of a ceiling collapsed on him, the firemen found him buried under it unconscious. Harry, the second he gets out of surgery I promise I’ll call you and tell you how he is.”

“He was here yesterday.”

“Harry, don’t bury him yet. They’re going to do everything they can.”

_ They’re doing everything they can. _ That’s medical-speak for _ Dale’s in serious trouble and could die at any minute. _ Harry tries to say something but all that comes out is a choking noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Descriptions of major/life threatening injuries, but nothing too graphic.


	16. Varying Degrees Of Understanding And Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

_ Dale watches in silence - there are two teams in this room, draped with blue clothes, masked, hands gloved in latex. He looks down from the ceiling. One team stands by his head, the other to his left side. His scalp has been shaved. Pieces of skull are removed and then a dark blood clot the consistency of Jell-O emerges. It’s extracted… Dale is looking at his own brain. The parts of his skull are replaced carefully, like pieces to a potentially deadly jigsaw puzzle. _

_ The second team’s job is arguably more complex: they begin by resetting his collarbone and his shoulder blade, then proceed to make a series of incisions in his hand. His metacarpals and two of his fingers have all been broken. Dale can only look on passively. He understands that he’s spectacularly injured, but no other information finds him. He doesn’t know how he’s been incapacitated, nor does he care. There are surgeons working on him. That’s all he can be sure of. _

_ Ultimately, each hole is sutured again. His hand and wrist are encased in a hard cast and his fingers are splinted. His shoulder is immobilized. The top of his head is completely wrapped in gauze dressings. Dale is removed from the operating room. He no longer floats - now he stands, walking along behind the medical staff as he’s taken into a recovery area. Monitors and tubing of all sorts are liberally applied to his unconscious body. The majority of the staff leave and Doc Hayward enters. A thorough inspection of the monitors and patient chart commence before the phone is accessed. _

_ “Harry, it’s Will, I’m sorry it took so long. He’s out of surgery, everything went well. No, he’s not awake yet, it’ll be awhile.” _

_ Dale is struck by a sudden urge to scream at the top of his voice that he’s awake and present, but his mouth won’t move. He desperately desires to speak with Harry - he missed their phone call this afternoon. He’s not even sure why he missed it, but it seems remotely possible that the reason has to do with the immense bruising around his eyes and nose. _

_ Time becomes liquid, sliding through his hands. Dale stands, watches, waits. He doesn’t understand what he’s waiting for, but he waits all the same. There’s something, some information, lodged in back of his mind that he can’t quite access. It feels important. _

_ Visitors drift through periodically. Lucy, Hawk and Andy are the first. Albert arrives and examines him. Still Dale waits. Increments of time are stated. The largest one he catches is nine days. Nine days until what? What is Dale waiting for? Will it arrive in nine days? He doesn’t understand. Maybe it’s no longer possible for him to understand anything. _

_ Harry appears. _

_ A minor amount of clarity is restored. Dale does not currently inhabit a recovery room - he’s placed in one of the rare private rooms in intensive care. Nine days have _ passed, _ already. He’s suffered a traumatic brain injury and officially hasn’t regained consciousness, though his EEG readings resemble those of a sleeping person rather than brain death, which is both encouraging and confusing for the medical personnel. In six weeks his fingers will no longer be splinted and in eight weeks the cast comes off. Similarly, in six weeks his shoulder will be healed and in eight weeks his collarbone is no longer fractured. His brain isn’t swollen anymore. He’ll be in pain when he wakes up, but curiously at the moment he feels perfectly normal. _

_ Dale’s focus redirects and it disorients him. Harry’s freshly returned from the hospital in Seattle, thin and pale and weak. He wears his hat indoors now. He’s still very sick until his new bone marrow can catch up to the demand for red blood cell production. His immune system is temporarily compromised and technically he should avoid being in the hospital at all until it comes back. _

_ The room is vacant aside from the two of them. Harry sinks into a chair and holds Dale’s hand, and somehow he makes this simple action into the most critical task in existence. Dale wants to hug him, but his arms won’t move. There are visible lines of tears. Dale can’t recall seeing Harry cry before, at least not sober. He wants to wipe away the moisture but his fingers won’t flex. He wants to tell Harry that it’s okay, he’s okay, they’re okay… the words don’t come to his throat. He has no voice and his body is useless. He’s trapped immaterial in this room, watching Harry suffer over him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Somewhat graphic depictions of surgery.


	17. Important Forgetfulness

Until now, Harry never really thought that hard about the expression “you look like death.” He does now, because it’s horribly fitting. Dale looks like he should be in the morgue with a toe-tag. His normally rosy skin is the color of bleached sheets and there are random bruises across his face and near the cast on his left arm. All of his hair got shaved too, but it’s beginning to grow back. Somehow that feels like a gruesome solidarity with Harry’s current condition even though it’s not related at all.

He sits, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to do. Dale sat with him every weekend for two days straight until he had to go back for work on Monday, except this past one. Dale always held his hand, too, so Harry does that now. He doesn’t know what to do and it feels like he hasn’t breathed since this happened. The air refuses to come into his body… he’s so tired. He can’t even go out in the sun for a year until his skin finishes healing up from all the radiation he took in the hospital. Right now everything in his life is wrong and he can’t think of any ways to fix it.

The curtain’s pulled… if Dale was awake he’d hate that. Harry gets up and opens it all the way before sitting back down again. He knows it’s for privacy but that doesn’t matter, Dale’s afraid of curtains so if he wakes up the curtain can’t be pulled. This is a single room anyway, so it’s not important.

“Will you be okay, now?” Harry whispers. “You don’t have to feel… trapped…”

That was the word: _ trapped. _ Dale used that word before to describe the feeling. Harry feels trapped now, trapped in this room waiting for something that might never happen, waiting for Dale’s eyes to open. Dale who said _ I love you _ to Harry two days before getting his skull crushed in during a structural collapse.

The room is empty… Harry can cry and nobody will see. So he does. Frank is across the state again and his aunt is long dead, there’s nobody to scold him and give him looks. No subordinates, either, that he has to worry about looking weak in front of. Now if only he could have a shot or two of Jack to complete this miserable picture.

“Albert said the fire on base was deliberately set,” Harry mumbles, wiping his face in his palm. “And it sounded like you got hurt looking for people who could’ve been trapped… dammit, Dale, we have firemen for that, why couldn’t you just wait for the firemen? It’s not like you had to rescue Audrey again, you could’ve waited…”

Harry wishes he knew whether Dale is comfortable or not. Gun to his head, he’d say the answer’s probably leaning more towards “not.” He also wishes he could run out and get pie and coffee - maybe the smell would do something - but if he leaves the room now that he’s here, Dale could die. Until Dale wakes up, Harry can’t leave. He’s stuck.

So of course now is when Albert decides to pop out of the woodwork.

“Ah, Truman, you’re still alive.”

“Sound more disappointed, you bastard.”

“I’m not disappointed, Coop loves you… for some damn reason… so I’ll put up with you for as long as he keeps you around. Anyway, you should know in case nobody already explained it that while these injuries weren’t necessarily deliberate there’s plenty of evidence stacking up that somebody’s after him. It’s entirely possible this arson was committed with the goal or one of the goals being to hurt or kill Coop. So far, no suspects, no motive. And I have a complete list of fatalities now, all the staff have been accounted for. Unfortunately your suspicions were confirmed, Major Garland Briggs is due for his autopsy this afternoon.”

“Good work, Albert… but you gotta find whoever’s out for his blood.”

“You do realize I’m ten steps ahead of you as always.”

“Albert I’m really not in the mood for your shit right now.”

Harry waits for Albert to go away, but it doesn’t happen. Instead Albert sits. Great.

“You should know I’ve had to pick up the tab on your medical bills the last few days you were there since he wasn’t working.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t afford cancer treatments on your own. I just wanted you to know you don’t owe either of us for it. It’s like a scholarship, only significantly less pleasant in nature.”

“I don’t get how either of you can afford it, do you really make that much money?”

“Technically speaking? No, we don’t. But Cooper managed to crowd-source quite a bit from the town and I illegally won a significant amount of money through card-counting. Clearly my exploits have paid off, seeing how you’re improving.”

“Great. How about you pay for him to get better, too?”

“Throwing money at Cooper’s head injury will solve nothing… times like this make you want to kick and scream against the universe though, huh? A man that smart getting a TBI… god damn unacceptable.”

Harry shakes his head. “Okay. I must be dying again, because that sounded like _ sympathy _ for a second there, Albert.”

“You were at no point dying. I can take back the sympathy if you hate it so much, you knuckle-dragging idiot.”

“There, see? That makes me feel like things might actually get back to normal.”

“This is your new normal, Truman. I looked at his neurological workup, the pathology of the blow he took to his head, and let’s not forget that he has yet to regain consciousness. My prediction: some amount of confusion the first couple of months, shortened attention span, frequent headaches and possibly seizures. Are you prepared to deal with that? There may also be some memory loss. If there is, he’s never getting those back.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Anything recently discussed… perhaps in the last four to six days prior to the injury. Pieces may be absent. If they are, he won’t miss them unless you point them out.”

That scares Harry. He doesn’t know if this is something he can handle. Seizures and erased memories. These ideas are bad enough already without the knowledge that for things like this, Albert’s usually right.

“So when he goes back to work, you’ll let him help you figure this out, right?”

Albert now gives Harry something worse than cynicism and smartassery - a look of absolute, honest-to-god _ pity. _ “Coop’s not going back to work. He’ll have a pension for his years of service to the Bureau and they’ll cover his medical costs, but head injury notwithstanding there’s a strong possibility of nerve damage in his hand after such a severe crush. He may be able to still work in some capacity, but he can’t work for us anymore.”

“Assuming he wakes up…”

“He will,” Albert insists. “He got through a knife wound that should’ve ended him and a bullet that went through his liver, I don’t see this taking him down.” Then the cynicism comes back. “So did you try any of his weird fairy tale mumbo-jumbo? You know, saying the magic words or crying in front of him or any of that crap?”

“How about _ you _ try something new like not kicking people while they’re down.” Harry’s so busy sniping at Albert that he almost misses the feeling of Dale’s fingers twitching against his. When he realizes what it was, he leans forward in his chair and stares at his boyfriend’s face. “Dale?”

“What is it?” Albert wonders.

“He moved.”

They both watch him intently for almost a full sixty seconds, waiting for… something. Who knows what. But there’s nothing.

“Wishful thinking, Truman.”

“He grabbed my hand.”

“You’re both too loud, stop fighting,” Dale whines, pulling free of Harry’s grip in order to rub his face.

“Dale? You awake?”

“I believe so… I have a tremendous headache… my arm is completely defunct for eight weeks…”

“How the hell do you know about that?” Harry questions.

“I saw the doctor discussing it with you… I’ve been standing in the corner… Albert, may I be raised slightly upright? Anything between a ten and a thirty degree angle would be appropriate, I believe.”

“Sure, Coop.” Albert puts up the head of the bed for him. “So, do you remember how this happened?”

“I was in my office…” Dale’s eyes crack open slightly and focus long enough to find Harry for two seconds before closing again. “My blood pressure went down… I suspect it was actually Harry’s blood pressure dropping during his bone marrow graft… and shortly following a surgical procedure to repair a skull fracture… Albert… you’re not going to believe me… but I saw my entire surgery. Why am I injured?”

“A ceiling fell on you during a structure fire because you were an idiot and ran back inside to help people.”

“Yes, that…” Dale yawns. “That does sound like something I would do.”

“Dale, next time I want you to wait for the firemen,” Harry insists.

Dale feels around until he finds Harry’s hand and grabs onto it. “It’s funny you should mention that… I’ve been waiting for nine days… I’m assuming it took nine days due to remaining health issues and determining your post-graft care? I wasn’t entirely sure what I was waiting for at first.”

“I’m getting coffee,” Albert announces before immediately leaving.

“Well, do you know what you were waiting for?” Harry asks gently.

“Yes.” Dale smiles but doesn’t open his eyes again. “I was waiting for you.”

Of course that’s the answer. “Dale, you didn’t have to wait for me to come back, I probably would’ve been a lot happier if I got back and you were already up and about.”

“Unfortunately, Harry, it doesn’t quite work that way. It troubles me… there was some information that I was given to share with you, but it escapes me.”

“It’ll come to you.”

“Thank you for opening the curtain.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dale squeezes his fingers. “I stand by what I said the last time I visited you, Harry… I love you very much. I believe that’s why I waited for nine days.”

Harry chuffs out a soft laugh under his breath - he didn’t even know until this second that he was scared Dale wouldn’t remember saying that to him. He squeezes back with his hand, careful not to press the IV. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me for that… it’s not a privilege to be revoked…” Dale’s voice is getting quieter, he’ll probably fall asleep in a few seconds. “I can’t remember… I was supposed to tell you…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to remember right now, I promise.”

“But it’s important…” Dale’s last words before he drifts off are as horrifying as they are random. “Fire… walk with me…”


	18. Adjustments To The Voice Of Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“Harry, where are we going?”

“We’re going home, Dale.”

“Judging by your tone, this isn’t the first time I’ve asked you that,” he guesses.

“Three times in ten minutes. It’s okay, Albert said this would happen, it’ll probably get better after some time’s gone by. Do you have a headache?”

“Not at the moment. I vaguely recall a fourth symptom to be vigilant for.”

“Post-trauma epilepsy. I think that’s what he called it. Dale, it’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Aren’t you returning to work shortly?”

“Officially, yes. Mostly I’ll be doing paperwork. I’m not supposed to be out in the sun. If you want, you could probably just sit in my office or the conference room all day. I’m sure Lucy wouldn’t mind the company either.”

“I don’t want to impose. I wouldn’t be working.”

“Dale, nobody would mind. It’ll make me feel better.”

“I suppose if it eases your mind that’s a sacrifice I’d be willing to make… but Harry, where are we going?”

“We’re going home, Dale. Don’t worry. We’re going to go home and both put on better clothes, then Doc Hayward’s stopping by. After that we’ll go get dinner from Norma.”

“What type of pie does she have today?”

“Well, it’s Wednesday, so… huckleberry? I think it’s huckleberry.”

Dale is overtaken without warning by the sensation of his skull’s inner walls bearing down on his brain. His unbroken hand flies to his head and he doubles forward in the seat, nearly hitting the dashboard and slipping the seatbelt up to press into his neck.

“Dale?”

“It got the drop on me,” he informs Harry through a clenched jaw.

“Okay, we’ll be home in a couple minutes, there’s aspirin.”

“I may require more than the recommended dose for this level of discomfort.”

“Whatever you need, Dale, I’ll make sure it happens.”

“In that case I’d like to request that you stop drinking alone in the dark whenever something upsets you and instead talk to me about it.”

“Jeez Louise, anything else?”

“Since you’ve asked, I’d also like you to stop obsessing about being bald. It’s far from permanent.”

“How can you talk normally when you’re like that? You do it when you’re crying, too.”

“Mind over matter, Harry.” Dale digs the tips of his fingers into each pressure-point he can reach. The relief it provides is minimal. “Failing appropriate painkillers, a horse tranquilizer or a bullet will suffice.”

“We’re almost home, Dale. I’ll get you some aspirin and you can lay down for a few minutes, I bet it’ll help.”

“Were we going home anyway?”

“Yes, Dale, we were already headed home. I’m bringing you home from the hospital after the ceiling landed on you at work ten days ago.”

“I don’t recall that.”

“I know you don’t. It’s okay.”

“Is that why my head hurts?”

“Yeah, that’s why your head hurts. It’ll go away once you have some aspirin.”

“I’m not confident that aspirin is powerful enough for this type of pain.”

They arrive in the driveway and Harry opens the door for him so that he doesn’t jar his collarbone while extricating himself from the car. Dale considers whether his skull has shrunk somehow like a wool sweater in an electric dryer. The pain is quickly reaching a point where it causes too much distress for his eyes to remain open, which results in Harry leading him inside by his uninjured shoulder. He’s placed on something soft - he assumes the couch - and shortly following his hand is pulled away from his head so that three aspirin tabs can be placed in his palm. Dale swallows them dry before the glass of water is even provided, but he accepts that as well and dutifully drinks it in its entirety.

“Dale, I think you should lay down for a few minutes and let those kick in.”

He realizes a sensation… “But Harry I’m wearing my shoes, aren’t we going somewhere?”

“No, we just got home and you didn’t have a chance to get them off yet.” Harry’s hands on his feet. “Here, I’ll get these for you.”

Dale is carefully relocated to the bed, still in the absence of the use of his eyes. The act of lying down is unexpectedly difficult while suffering an immobilized shoulder and his arm in a sling, but he manages it eventually with more help from his boyfriend.

“Harry you have the patience of a saint,” Dale comments, putting his good arm across his eyes to block out the light.

“You did this for me after that damn biopsy, don’t worry about it. How much does it hurt? Can you… describe it? Doc Hayward will probably ask…”

“Imagine your gray matter being methodically crushed by the back of your forehead.”

“Ouch.” Harry’s palm brushes the short fuzz along his scalp. “I wish they didn’t shave your whole head.”

“It was necessary. This isn’t a permanent state of being for me any more than it is for you.”

“Dale I’m bald.”

“Your hair will grow back in approximately six weeks. A thought at one point occurred to me that I’d like to have a photograph of you to keep on my desk at work. Once this sensitive issue has concluded would it be possible to have one taken?”

“I don’t think that’s something we should talk about right now. You won’t be back at work for awhile anyway.”

“I suppose I won’t.”

“I’m going to go call Doc Hayward, he’ll be here in a few minutes. You can just keep laying down, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dale listens to Harry’s shoes leaving the bedroom. Faintly, and with some difficulty, he detects the noises of the trees outside and chooses this to focus on. It almost sounds like voices… these not-voices carry with them threads of a deep fear which is vaguely familiar to him but that he can’t place. Dale tunes to them, forgetting his body and placing all his sensory perception into his hearing and mind.

_ aWkl ti su D,la oCpore… ehw _

He’s unable to comprehend this message on hearing it the first time, but shortly following his senses adjust.

_ …repooC elaD ,su htiw klaW _

Dale is immediately and inexplicably terrified. He knows there’s a reason, but it escapes him. The only thing he can be certain of is that he must not stay where they can see him. His consciousness floods back into his damaged body, his arm is removed from his face, his eyes open. Dale nearly falls on his bad shoulder in the struggle to free himself from the bed and runs out of the room.

“Hang on one sec… Dale, hey, DALE!” A strong hand wraps in his shirt. “What happened?”

“Harry,” he breathes. Relief plays across each nerve embedded in his skin. “Can they still see me?”

“Who?”

“Can they still see me?” Dale asks again.

“Dale, you’re at home. There’s nobody here but us… what happened, what’s got you so spooked?”

“Can’t your hear them, too? They could see me.”

Harry looks him over in silence for several seconds. “Okay. How about… how about you just sit for a second so I can finish up on the phone.”

It seems reasonable, so Dale nods agreeably and settles on the couch. He doesn’t understand why Harry’s confused. The phone conversation is rapidly concluded and Harry sits beside him with a concerned expression.

“Dale, what happened?”

“I’m… sitting on the couch, Harry.”

“No, I know that, what happened just now?”

“Did something happen?” Dale asks. “I know I missed calling you on Monday.”

“No, Dale, that was almost two weeks ago. You hit your head, that’s why you missed the call.”

“Yes, that follows… who was on the phone just now?”

“Doc Hayward, he’s coming over to see you.” Notes of frustration and worry faintly vibrate in Harry’s voice. “We just need to make sure you’ll be okay here and that you didn’t leave the hospital too soon.”

“Is Albert still at the hospital?”

“No, he’s busy doing his investigation. He might stop by to see you tomorrow night if he’s got time. Dale, ninety seconds ago you came running out of the bedroom in a panic. Do you remember doing that?”

“I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t.”

Harry nods and sighs. “Okay.”

Dale is very gently moved to Harry’s side of the couch and his boyfriend’s arms loop around him, avoiding his injured shoulder. He tucks his vaguely aching head under Harry’s chin and relaxes into the feeling of physical security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of the consequences of a traumatic brain injury.


	19. Dilantin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“Have you noticed… this shirt in particular is a different texture from my other shirts?” Dale mumbles on the other side of Harry’s desk.

“No, I didn’t. Do you need a new shirt?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Dale’s in a weird mood today - he’s quieter than usual and dropped his coffee mug twice, thankfully before filling it with scalding liquid. Harry’s a little worried, but it could just be him getting used to the world again after spending so much time in the hospital. It’s been twelve days, now, since he got hurt.

“I need another donut, do you want one, too?”

“Yes, please. A jelly donut if you can manage it.”

“I’ll try, Hawk might’ve eaten them all.” Harry doesn’t go straight for the kitchen, but stops at Lucy’s window first. “Has Agent Rosenfield called?”

“No, Sheriff, he hasn’t. Should I be expecting him to?”

“Yeah, maybe, he said he’ll keep me in the know on his investigation.”

Harry grabs two donuts and returns to his office, where Dale’s managed to drop his mug a third time, finally dumping coffee onto the carpet.

“Apologies, Harry. I’ve been feeling peculiar this morning.”

“Yeah, I noticed. If it doesn’t go away by lunch I’ll call Doc Hayward again and… Dale?”

Something’s off but Harry can’t say what it is - Dale just looks _ wrong _ somehow, as if sitting in a chair can even look wrong at all. He doesn’t have a chance to think about it, though. An odd kind of groaning noise comes from Dale’s throat and then he’s not in the chair anymore because he’s collapsing into a heap on the floor next to it instead.

Harry takes two steps and drops hard onto his knees, reaching out - all of Dale’s muscles are stiff and he isn’t quite breathing. This doesn’t last long. After maybe ten seconds he starts convulsing and Harry bolts for the door to the hallway.

“LUCY CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

All Harry can really do is watch it happen and silently panic. He doesn’t know what this is, he doesn’t know what to do. He has a tiny bit of first aid training but it doesn’t cover anything like what’s happening to Dale. So he just stands there and stares while his boyfriend has probably a medical emergency on the floor of his office, hating himself for being useless.

Lucy appears from thin air on his left: “The ambulance is on its way… what happened to Agent Cooper?”

Harry only shakes his head; he has no answers. Something’s wrong with Dale. That’s all he knows.

Gradually the thrashing stops on its own, and about a minute later the paramedics arrive. One of them rolls Dale onto his uninjured side while the second one questions Harry about his condition.

“We can take him to the hospital if you really want, but there’s nothing they can do about this. He should see his doctor and talk about this sometime soon.”

“So what was it?” Harry asks.

“From the sound of it, this was a grand mal seizure. There’s some things you can do if it happens again. Put something soft under his head, and when it stops roll him onto his side to help ease his breathing. If you’re close by enough when you see him fall down, try to catch him and let him down gently so he doesn’t hit his head.”

“Okay. How long until he wakes up again?”

“Probably between five to twenty minutes. He might be tired or confused. If this happens again and it lasts for more than five minutes, that’s when you should call an ambulance.”

Harry nods. Dale has seizures now, just like Albert said. Even though he’s just been told what to do for next time, he still feels like he doesn’t know what to do. Why did this have to happen to Dale?

As soon as the paramedics are gone, Harry dials a number into his phone.

“This is Sheriff Truman in Twin Peaks, I need to speak with Agent Rosenfield.”

Albert doesn’t make him wait too long. “You do realize I’m at work trying to figure out who wants your boyfriend dead, right?”

“Dale had a seizure a couple minutes ago.”

“I see. Take him to a doctor, see if you can’t get him a prescription for Dilantin. This _ will _ keep happening. I’ll be up to see him at about dinner time.”

“Dilantin?”

“It’s a medication for epilepsy and probably the one that’ll work the best for him.”

“Thanks, Albert.”

“Sure.”

They both hang up and Harry sits on the floor behind Dale and whispers things, stupid things, a list: Dale’s smart and kind and interesting and weird but in a good way. Harry quietly lists all the things he likes about his boyfriend. Maybe if Dale can hear all those stupid, quiet things, he’ll find the way back again from wherever he went during his seizure.

“Harry?” Dale says finally. It’s been almost fifteen minutes since he fell out of his chair.

“Yeah?”

“Why am I lying on the floor?”

“You had a seizure. I called Albert, he says you need a medication to keep this from happening again.” Harry swallows. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Dale slowly climbs to his feet and re-situates in the chair. Harry watches him, makes sure he won’t collapse again. When he leaves his office, he doesn’t get coffee right away.

“Lucy, can you call Doc Hayward and ask him to come up? Tell him Dale had a grand mal seizure.”

“Okay, Sheriff, but why did Agent Cooper have a seizure?”

“He’s still hurt. Please just call.”

“Okay.”

Harry gets two cups of coffee and gives one to Dale, and his office is quiet while they drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of the consequences of a traumatic brain injury.
> 
> These are no longer called grand mal seizures, they're called tonic-clonic seizures now but I'm pretty sure back in 1990 they were still grand mal. I'm also pretty sure these are actually the rarest type of epileptic seizure but dramatic effect and blah-blah-blah. These are in fact a plot point.


	20. Concerns Pertaining To Albert Rosenfield And "Supernatural Hocus-Pocus"

“Where do you go when these happen?” Harry murmurs. “Mentally, or whatever.”

“I don’t ‘go’ anywhere. For me there’s no passage of time, I’ll feel strange for several minutes and regain consciousness on the floor. The closest similarity I can describe is waking up from a surgery.”

Dale shifts position slightly, but lying down his range of motion is restricted by his injuries. Harry moves as well, cuddling him closer. He’s usually unsettled to some degree each time he witnesses Dale having a seizure; prior to the Dilantin they would occur every two or three days, but now they’re approximately once per week. It’s been one month since Dale’s head injury and his attention span has significantly improved, but he still has debilitating headaches on a daily (or sometimes more frequent) basis and he continues to wake up confused at least three mornings out of seven. Additionally he’s begun to notice diminished sensation in his broken hand, which is concerning.

Harry’s unwavering love and support makes Dale’s temporary state of disability significantly more bearable. He never minds when Dale hears voices or can’t remember where they are and religiously wraps Dale’s cast in plastic before baths. Frequently, Dale experiences moments of acute awareness in regards to Harry’s thoughts and emotions, and he’s noted on most occasions that his boyfriend’s frustration stems purely from his discomfort and the difficulties he faces completing ordinary tasks. But Harry never minds taking care of him, because Harry needs to be needed and because Harry loves him.

Dale shifts again and notices a small but incredibly significant detail. “Harry.”

“Yeah.”

“Your eyebrows are growing back,” Dale smiles. “And your eyelashes. In the near future you’ll need to resume shaving.”

Harry immediately reaches up to touch his face, smiling as well on discovering the fuzz above his eyes. It’s barely noticeable at the current point in time, but someday very soon the fine, dark hairs will have returned in full. Dale’s extremely pleased to have been able to bring this to Harry’s attention.

Harry’s hand moves to Dale’s head after a short moment, brushing down the short fluff there. His hair is very soft and feathery at this length, and while he understands that his boyfriend enjoys the texture he personally doesn’t care for it and anticipates it getting long enough for him to style again. On the other hand, he’ll be much happier when Harry’s has started to grow back at all, not only because he absolutely adores those curls but because Harry’s discomfort makes him unhappy.

The phone rings and their peaceful post-seizure cuddling is disrupted - Dale’s mildly curious to know who exactly sees fit to bother them at this time of night, but on a much greater scale he can feel how deeply irritated Harry is at this disturbance.

“Sheriff Truman. No, he’s… why are you calling me at seven thirty at night and who gave you my home number? No, Albert, it’s not obstruction of justice, I just don’t like you.” Harry sighs. “Yeah, hang on.”

The phone is handed to Dale.

“Albert, I suspect I should be concerned.”

“Damn right you should be. So have you been having any of your supernatural hocus-pocus recently?”

“Post-TBI there have been issues with what Doc Hayward and Dr. Jacoby have labeled as ‘auditory hallucinations, command in nature.’”

“Those might not be hallucinations. After the brass made me read your reports to them a hundred thousand times I know all your details around the Black Lodge by heart no matter how much and how often I wish I didn’t… after extensive questioning of the surviving military personnel and confiscating a large portion of their documents, I’m forced to conclude that _ Bob _ is still after you. The man who set the fire claims innocence and has no memory of doing so, and though a number of personnel have been reported as acting strangely within a ten-day time frame prior to the arson they’re also amnesiac. This explanation is the only way I can make all the dots connect and all the numbers add up.”

“I see…” Dale swallows. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“The Bureau wants me to question you again, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

“Albert I’m surprised it didn’t occur to you that any of this can wait until tomorrow. There’s nothing I can do about it at this moment in time. Furthermore I’ve recently had a seizure and I’m very tired.”

“You’re in danger. I didn’t think you’d want me to wait to tell you that.”

Dale nods. “I understand. Thank you, Albert, I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

“I’ll come get you from the station at around 9:30ish.”

It’s one of the more annoying aspects of post-TBI epilepsy: Dale’s driver’s license has been revoked indefinitely due to the fact that his seizures can’t be completely controlled by medication, otherwise he’d be more than able to simply meet Albert tomorrow morning for questioning.

The phone is replaced by Harry and then immediately taken back off the hook and left on the bedside table to prevent Albert from calling again for the rest of the evening. Dale relaxes into his boyfriend’s embrace and the light summer blanket is pulled up to his shoulders. He can feel Harry’s distress - it laps at the corners of his mind like water against a beach.

“According to Albert, the culprit of the arson on base was _ Bob._”

“I thought you escaped _ Bob _ by leaving the Black Lodge.”

“It seems to have been a critical oversight on my part to assume he’d give up so easily. I have no answers for this situation right now, fatigue is hampering my thought process.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Harry decides.

“_Bob _ isn’t all-powerful,” Dale reminds him. “Laura held him off for a very long time.”

“Laura’s dead, Dale. That’s not as comforting as you seem to think it is.”


	21. Bad Coffee

The stress of the last couple weeks got left behind in Twin Peaks - despite Dale having a seizure _ on the plane _ and Harry having to frantically explain that no, they didn’t have to make an emergency landing, this was normal and it would stop on its own - and he’s relieved more than he can say when they finally get into their hotel room. They won’t be here for very long, but it’s three days where Dale’s not having his brain picked by Albert repeatedly. Escaping the pressures of home easily makes up for how immediately overwhelming Harry finds Philadelphia.

“I’m making a trip to the store, there’s a very specific type of chocolates she likes,” Dale announces.

“Maybe I should do it, you’re exhausted,” Harry points out.

Dale’s hand, the one not in a cast, goes up in that way it always does when Dale wants attention and quiet both at once. “You’re not familiar with the area here, I won’t subject you to possibly getting lost or hit by a car. The driving here is, for lack of a better term, absolutely horrendous.”

“What if you have another seizure?”

“I won’t, I can feel them coming for about twenty minutes prior. At the moment I feel normal, albeit tired. I’d also like the opportunity to stretch my legs.”

“…alright, if you’re sure you’ll be okay.”

Dale smiles. “I’ll be fine, Harry, I promise.”

Harry waits in their hotel room; after spending every second of his spare time working to keep Dale safe from not just _ Bob _ but further brain damage, he’s not about to steal what little independence his boyfriend has left. If Dale wants to walk to the store by himself, Harry isn’t going to stop him. Not when Dale’s so frustrated at not being able to drive anymore. Not when Dale has to explain to their friends in town everything they have to do if they see him collapse each time he runs into someone who doesn’t already know about his head injury. Not when Dale has to see Doc Hayward every single week to keep an eye on his problems with short-term memory and confusion. Not when almost every angle of Dale’s life has been upended and still can’t get back to how it was before.

Harry sits on the corner of the bed and rubs his face with his hands. Albert said something about it, back at the beginning. _ “Times like this make you want to kick and scream against the universe though, huh? A man that smart getting a TBI… god damn unacceptable.” _ And Albert was right about that when he said it six weeks ago. Albert’s usually right. Harry hates fate or god or whoever for doing this to Dale, because Dale’s brain is his best feature and now it doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.

Harry’s been thinking about this for the last few days, actually, and he can’t stop himself from making comparisons. Josie was beautiful, she was quiet and soft and fit perfectly in his arms. He’d thought she was gentle, he thought she actually needed him, and that’s what he fell in love with. Either he’s just really gullible or she was a good actress, because he never suspected a thing until Dale and later Albert started pointing things out to him. He didn’t want to believe those things. He wanted Josie to be worthy of his love. Seeing her for the last time, pointing a gun at Dale, had felt like he’d been stabbed right through the chest. She never said that she loved him… but it still feels like a loss, even months later.

On the other hand, now there’s Dale. Dale is also beautiful, but otherwise he’s so very different from anyone else Harry’s been in a relationship with. Dale can’t be put neatly into a box when Harry mentally categorizes these things, because Dale’s so far outside the concept of boxes that he’s made his own box. Dale’s kind and honest and defined by his quirks, and it’s his brain that Harry fell in love with. He wants to say that, because Dale says it to him on a fairly regular basis, but every time he tries his tongue sticks in his mouth and the words get swallowed back down again.

Harry unties his shoes and lies back on the bed, because right now it’s suddenly coming to him that Dale’s hand is still broken and Dale gets headaches so bad he can’t move… he can’t think about that. If he thinks about that he’ll end up trying to stop Dale from doing anything away from him ever and that’s just not okay. He doesn’t want Dale to feel trapped by him. Dale’s walking to the store. Dale will be back. Harry won’t think until he’s here again with a bag of stuff.

Harry closes his eyes and sinks into the mattress, and before he can realize anything else there’s a hand gently pushing his shoulder. He didn’t even know he was falling asleep.

“I think it’s in both our best interests to stop for coffee on the way there,” Dale smiles.

Harry groans as he sits up. “How far is it?”

“Approximately a twenty minute walk, not accounting for the time required to purchase coffee.”

His shoes go back on and they check three times just to make sure that the hotel key is in his pants pocket, and Harry insists on carrying the presents on the grounds that Dale’s hand is, in fact, still broken and he’ll need his unbroken hand free to carry his coffee with. Unfortunately their only option is some coffee place Harry’s never seen or heard of before, and it turns out their coffee is two steps up from undrinkable. He downs it anyway because he needs the caffeine.

“That’s really the best your home city can do?” Harry teases as he tosses the disposable cup into a public garbage can.

“No, it was the most convenient option. Afterwards I’ll show you to a far superior location to buy coffee,” Dale promises before finishing his own cup and grimacing in disgust.

At least it’s kicking in by the time they get to the nursing home. Both of them sign in and are given visitors’ badges to clip to their shirts, and then there’s a short ride in an elevator. Harry’s a little nervous about this, mostly because he knows he won’t be doing the same thing - he wouldn’t dare drive to the opposite corner of Washington state to show off Dale to his father. The best outcome they’d get from that would be the shotgun getting waved in their faces instead of being actually fired at them.

All things considered, this isn’t a terrible place for people to live. It seems clean and fairly well-staffed if the number of orderlies is anything to go by. Harry can see why Dale has to pay so much for it, anyway.

“So does she… know about me?” Harry asks softly as they walk.

“Technically, yes. I told her I was bringing someone with me but I didn’t further elaborate in any way. In essence, this will be how she learns that I’m…” Dale visibly swallows. “I don’t anticipate a bad reaction, I’m only second-guessing myself on the decision to surprise her with it.” They arrive at a door and Dale knocks before entering, then puts on his best smile. “Hi, mom. I know we’re slightly later than I said, but we had to stop for coffee.”

Dale’s mother very slowly and deliberately stands out of her chair and Dale hugs her. Harry just holds out a hand to shake instead, which she does. As soon as she’s sitting again she pulls out a spiral notebook and briefly writes, then hands it to Dale, who immediately starts laughing before handing it over to Harry.

_ How long have you been seeing him, Dale? _

“Since March,” Harry answers instead, because Dale’s still too busy laughing. “We made friends first.”

Now the notebook is handed directly to him: _ Have you been taking good care of my son? _

“Yes, ma’am, I do my best,” he nods. “He’s pretty low-maintenance.”

Dale tells her a little about Harry before presenting her with his gifts: several boxes of envelopes and rolls of stamps, a stack of fresh notebooks and a pack of pens, and two boxes of that one kind of chocolate candies she likes best. She asks Dale to send pictures - of them together, of where they live.

“I will, but it might not be for a couple more months.”

“Why?” Harry wonders.

“Because I’ve heard that the autumn leaves are spectacular and it’ll give your hair a chance to grow back.”

Which leads to a discussion of both Harry’s and Dale’s recent stays in various hospitals and then a long, long talk about Dale’s epilepsy. It’s so many words they’ve both had to say at least a hundred times by now, but this is different somehow, because it’s Dale’s mother and so she worries about him. Harry can’t blame her for that even though the seizures don’t technically do any harm - he worries about Dale, too.


	22. Universally Difficult Mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in end notes.

“Albert’s coming back again,” Dale informs Harry from his position at the kitchen table where he’s desperately trying to fit an entire film roll’s worth of expensive color photographs into an envelope addressed to his mother.

“He didn’t find anything the last three times.”

“Yes, he’s aware of that. The brass are being relentless on him.”

Harry looks over Dale’s shoulder and snorts: “Are those all nothing but trees?”

“Not all of them. There are also the ones taken of the two of us.”

“Do you really think your mother’s going to be as fascinated with the damn trees as you are?”

“Not necessarily, but she also doesn’t get outside much anymore, so I’d like to show her something beautiful.”

“Good thing you took all those before it started raining, then.”

Dale swallows the last of his coffee and pours himself a second cup before finally managing to secure the envelope in a satisfactory way. He places the stamp and sets it aside to be mailed when they leave for work. Officer Walsh still complains about cronyism behind Harry’s back, but Hawk’s been trying to put a stop to that. Technically speaking, cronyism is exactly what this is, but the entirety of Dale’s post-service pension from the FBI goes to his mother’s living arrangements and this option gives Dale a sense of fulfillment as well as enabling him to contribute to the bills every month. Besides, most of the town likes him enough not to mind.

There are essentially no leaves remaining on the trees due to the frequent rain storms that apparently plague Twin Peaks come mid-October. This minute detail is on Dale’s mind as he mails the photos, but it quickly gives way once again to his job and Albert’s impending return. _ Bob _ stalks him in his nightmares and he often still hears voices whispering frightening things to him, which by now he has every reason to suspect are related issues. After speaking with Margaret last month, he mentally refers to these voices as _ the owls. _ There’s simply no other explanation as yet.

“Do you wanna go to Lucy’s Halloween party in a couple weeks?” Harry asks as they get in the truck. His tone of voice tells Dale _ I asked you this before but you forgot to answer._

“Where is it being held?”

“Just the station. Cops with their girlfriends getting drunk and eating hundreds of dollars’ worth of donuts.”

“Sounds fun, I think we should go.”

“I could be getting drunk at home instead, though.”

“Harry, you’re not supposed to be drinking, alcohol is a known carcinogen.”

“I won’t be, I don’t usually get drunk around people.”

They playfully bicker for the remainder of the drive, and on arrival Dale’s concerned that he may have an impending seizure because this morning his shirt feels different. On further examination, he realizes that this shirt doesn’t belong to him - it’s one of Harry’s. Dale had been bleary after waking up with a migraine and simply reached for a tan folded shirt, not realizing it was his boyfriend’s even while pinning his own badge to it.

His morning progresses as normal. Lucy still greets him as “Agent Cooper” even though he’s long since ceased to work for the FBI due to the extent of his injuries. He manages to obtain a powdered sugar jelly donut despite Hawk’s efforts to steal them all before anyone else has the chance to eat one. The topic of discussion at the station before roll: Bobby Briggs is now at the police academy, which has only recently been revealed during a conversation with Shelly at the Double R and comes as a shock to everyone.

“Alright, settle down,” Harry orders as he sits at the head of the conference room table. “Lucy has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon so for a couple hours after lunch Deputy Brennan will be manning the phones. Ashbrook, you’re on a call for a missing dog, property damage, and…” Harry checks the paperwork in front of him. “…a moose, apparently, that ate part of a vegetable garden. All of those are in the same neighborhood.” The sheet is passed down the table. “Matthews, I’m sure this’ll come as a shock to you, but your favorite customer is reporting a bear sighting.”

Officer Matthews groans. “Again? What is it with Catherine and bears? I thought they’re all hibernating by now anyway!”

“Either way, that’s your morning,” Harry dismisses him. “Walsh, Big Ed says he thinks he saw someone trying to steal gasoline from cars he’s working on up at his gas farm, you’ll be looking into that. After you get done there Norma called about kids setting off firecrackers in her dumpsters. Deputy Cooper, Agent Rosenfield left a message with Lucy just before we got here, apparently he’ll be here way ahead of schedule and he’ll be at the station by lunch to talk to you. I have court today finally for the two homophobes who beat up that kid in May, so Deputy Hawk will be in charge for today while I go do that. That’s it.”

Everyone finishes his current donut and disperses from the conference room. Dale takes his third cup of coffee for the morning into Harry’s office to help him tackle the stack of paperwork he’ll be doing - a lot of his job consists of paperwork. He isn’t sent on calls by himself since he can’t drive, so Dale does his best to handle as much of the red tape as possible in order to make Harry’s life easier. He doesn’t mind the pencil-pushing here nearly as much as he did while working at the air force base, though, because here he has friends to talk to during lunch and he’s directly helping his boyfriend by doing this.

Pain. A very sudden and debilitating pain, one he’s felt countless times since the injury he doesn’t remember. His migraine is back. Dale pitches forward onto the desk and piles his arms over top of his head, shielding himself from the lights and sounds trying to drill their way into his brain. After a brief handful of seconds he completely forgets where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing. His mental space is entirely occupied by the acute sensation of a hatchet buried in his skull.

For a moment, Dale’s excavated from his position and several tiny objects are put in his hand. Vaguely the idea forms - they need to be swallowed. They’ll help somehow. These are chased by heat and bitterness, enough that they won’t stick in his throat. Dale is maneuvered somehow, reconfigured, and stays still leaning into something warm for an indeterminate amount of time.

An absurd dosage of tylenol and aspirin kick in. Dale comes to in Harry’s arms, curled up on the floor.

“Dale are you going to be okay? Maybe you should go home for the day.”

“I’ll be alright,” he decides. There’s a lingering ache, but it’s nothing too serious for now. “Did I make you late for court?”

“No, I don’t have to be there until eleven.” Harry stands them both up from the floor and sits Dale back in his chair. “I’ll go grab you some more coffee.”

Harry disappears exactly long enough for the voices of the owls to invade Dale’s brainspace, which causes him to retreat to the men’s room because there are no windows there. Often, if he changes locations to a room with no windows, the voices go away. Dale wonders if this is how Margaret feels. It also cements his decision to remain at the station instead of returning home, because there are too many windows there and at this moment in time he’s afraid to be trapped alone with the owls.

Andy, of all people, finds him. “Agent Cooper are you feeling well? You look awful pale, maybe you should have soup for lunch today instead of pie.”

“Thank you for your concern, Andy, but I’m fine.” Dale almost chokes on the lie. Besides Harry, Hawk is the only one at the station who knows about the owls and Dale has no intention of frightening Andy with that information this morning.

The intercom crackles: “Agent Cooper, Agent Rosenfield has arrived to speak with you, can you meet him in the conference room?”

Dale washes his hands even though he’s done nothing but stand there before leaving and making his way to the conference room. Albert is exhausted, cranky, and carrying a box of files.

“Coop, normally I’d attribute this to inadequate time management if it was anyone besides you, but why weren’t you already here when I arrived?” Albert snaps, slamming the box down on the table.

“Albert, I understand that you’re very tired and frustrated, but taking it out on me is counterproductive at best. That aside, I’m also experiencing a fairly difficult morning and I’d appreciate it if you’d tone down the unwarranted hostility for the time being.”

Albert snorts, but manages to resume a degree of professionalism. “After a lot of constant bitching and moaning about it, we finally got some info declassified for us from the Air Force regarding the phenomena you were helping them research here in the ass-end of nowhere. As far as we can tell, _ Bob _ has a greater sphere of control than we previously thought, which would’ve been nice to know before now. Did you ever stop and wonder why your problems suddenly piled up one right on top of another after you moved here to be with your sheriff? Obviously you getting crippled was all on _ Bob _ \- he pulled the strings of some poor dumb bastards to get that fire started and probably counted on you being your stupidly heroic self to get his ends achieved. But I also found something else that’s concerning… at one point a study was done, around the time you would’ve been starting high school, that found a particularly horrible side-effect of working on this case. Brace yourself if you can.”

“Albert, please get on with it, I don’t enjoy needless guessing games.”

“Four soldiers and one government operative became sick with various diseases while participating in the research, but at ages inconsistent with the onset of those diseases. All five had family histories of whatever they got sick from. This isn’t directly tied to _ Bob _ but it’s a well-documented fact that _ Bob _ isn’t the only malicious supernatural entity that lives in the woods here. From this data, I’m forced to conclude that your boyfriend didn’t get sick a few months ago because of random bad luck. He has a family history of various types of cancer to begin with but there isn’t much else in his medical file to indicate he’s at high risk, especially because he’s not at an age where a leukemia diagnosis is particularly common. One of these demons pulled that string. It might not have been _ Bob, _ but I’d be willing to bet that _ Bob _ has friends who live in the woods with him. And if he wants to get you, going after Harry is a pretty convenient way to make your life hell, don’t you think?”

Dale feels like he’s been buried under this onslaught of information, and it takes him an embarrassingly long ten seconds to disentangle everything. “Am I right to assume there’s little if anything I can do to counteract this?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know for sure. Oh, and Coop, not that I think you’d do this but don’t act stupid and go running off because you think it’ll protect Harry. It won’t. You’d just be making both of you unhappy.”

“I have no intention of doing so. I believe these incidents have a similar effect on my relationship with Harry as a bone fracture… it’s extremely painful at first, but the bone heals to a much stronger state afterwards.”

“You know sometimes your optimism is sickening.”

Harry chooses this moment to make his presence known. “Okay, all I heard of this conversation was that last part, but whatever’s going on you need to cut the shit today, Albert.” He steps into Dale’s space for a light kiss. “I’m headed out for the trial, if you need anything-”

“Harry, I’ll be perfectly fine until you get back.” Dale reaches over and squeezes both his hands. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’m pretty sure I’ll need it for this.” Harry’s body language is bitter and nearly hopeless as he leaves again.

“What crawled up his ass and died this morning?”

“A case that he’s taken too personally… homophobia in the setting of a small town and the many difficulties that arise because of it. The residents seem almost evenly split on this issue.”

“Which means you’re not safe from them.”

“Yes, that’s essentially what it boils down to. Many of them suspect, but few know for sure. It seems we’ll remain that way for the foreseeable future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of the consequences of a traumatic brain injury.


	23. ...Walk With Me

Harry wakes up to the sound of pouring rain and Dale’s side of the bed empty, which isn’t the most unusual thing - he’s probably already up making coffee before work. Barely awake, Harry shuffles through his routine of shaving and dressing with the assumption that when he arrives in the kitchen the most crucial part of his breakfast will be waiting for him.

It’s shocking when none of the lights are on in the rest of the house.

“Dale?” Harry calls. “Dale are you up?”

It’s a stupid question. Where can Dale be? The house isn’t that big but Harry checks every place. He feels the sheets on the other side of the bed and they’re cold, so this isn’t recent. His boyfriend’s rubber boots are missing. Harry panics - he still wakes up confused sometimes, maybe he didn’t know where he was and wandered off somewhere by accident… or maybe _ Bob _ stole him somehow. That just scares him more.

He picks up the phone and gets two rings before a disgruntled noise. “Agent Rosenfield.”

“Albert, Dale’s missing.”

“Missing how?”

“Missing like he’s not here and he hasn’t been here since before I woke up.”

“Maybe you snore and he needed a break from it.”

“Albert for fuck’s sake!” Harry screams, mostly because he just can’t help it. “He doesn’t always know where he is when he first gets up, and I don’t know how long it’s been since he left so there’s no way to know where he is!”

“Okay. I’ll speak with my team, you rally your officers… if we don’t locate him by this afternoon we’ll call the state police.”

They hang up and Harry barely remembers his coat before running out to his truck and doing at least double the speed limit to the station despite the awful road conditions. Dale could be soaking wet and freezing to death somewhere in the woods… mid-October isn’t the coldest by a long shot, but it’s only fifty degrees or so and Harry can already tell the temperature’s going to be dropping all day today.

Thank god, Hawk’s already at the station. Harry takes two seconds to explain to Lucy and another three to explain to Hawk before the two of them are driving back to his house. The rain hammers against them, rattling the branches of the leafless trees and smacking tiny stinging dots against any inch of exposed skin. Dale’s going to freeze if they don’t find him in the next few hours. He could have a seizure out here, too, which’ll only disorient him even more. He has nothing going for him in this situation.

“One set of tracks,” Hawk informs him as they walk. “The space between steps is consistent, so he’s not hurt. With the amount of space between them, he was moving faster than normal.”

“Why?”

“Who knows. He had some reason to think he was in a hurry. How long has it been?”

“I don’t know, I woke up and he was gone. The bed was cold.”

“We have at least sixty four hours. He’s not stupid, he might even find his way back on his own.”

“But _ Bob _ could get him first.”

Hawk nods without saying anything. They follow the tracks for a good while as the rain sheets down through the trees, pelting them. Sixty four hours. They have sixty four hours to find Dale. There’s a rule of thumb in policing - it’s a missing person for seventy two hours after the disappearance… more than that, and you’re looking for a body to recover. But it’s wet and cold and Dale’s head doesn’t always work right. They don't have sixty four hours. They have less than twenty four.

Lucy radios him about his second day in court. He doesn’t have to speak today and this is an emergency, so that’s what she should call and tell them. He puts it back on his belt in time for them to stop at a stream.

“There’s no tracks on the other side,” Hawk comments. “So he probably walked in it trying to find his way back. We need more manpower.”

It’s going to cost them more time to get Albert’s men all the way out here. Meanwhile Dale’s slowly freezing somewhere and Harry has no idea if they even have a chance at finding him in time. He wants to rip his hair right out of his scalp. Instead he gets his radio again.

“Lucy come in.”

“I’m here, Sheriff.”

“Call the state police. Tell them we have a missing person, adult male with head trauma.” He describes their location. “After that call Albert, tell him to meet us here with his team. Andy’s in charge of the station until we get back.”

“Ten-four.”

Harry’s soaking under his jacket by now. Dale will be drenched. He panics again and walks a few feet along the stream.

“DALE!” Harry bellows, as loud as he possibly can. “DALE! WE’RE LOOKING FOR YOU! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME START SHOUTING!”

If Dale does shout, the noise of the rain swallows it.


	24. Playing Tricks

Harry’s not sure how Albert did it, but the cavalry has arrived - almost a dozen men in those dark blue FBI windbreakers showed up overnight and are now combing the woods for Dale alongside the state police. He hopes to god that it even matters… the twenty four hours have expired by now, leaving them the remainder of the original seventy two. It hasn’t stopped pouring buckets for even a second since yesterday morning and the temperature is hovering around forty two degrees… maybe Dale’s hiding someplace warm…

Harry and Hawk are out with all these bodies, trying to find tracks that match the ones of Dale’s rain boots that they found and then lost yesterday. So far nothing’s turned up and Harry’s been slowly losing his mind with each passing hour. Because if Dale wasn’t home this morning, it means he didn’t have his Dilantin or his painkillers, so he could have a seizure or a migraine somewhere really inconvenient… like the edge of a gorge.

“I talked to Margaret Lanterman last night,” Hawk says, very suddenly interrupting Harry’s train of thought.

“About what?”

“She says the owls took him.”

“An owl isn’t big enough to pick Dale up and carry him off!”

“No, it’s not. But he might’ve been tricked. And if that’s what happened we might not find any more tracks at all, like when Major Briggs disappeared the first time back in March.”

“Dale’s too smart to get tricked by them, he’s out here,” Harry insists.

“I’m just telling you what she told me.”

The rain hammers down on them. Harry wonders if _ Bob _ is in charge of the weather now, too.


	25. It's No Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of alcoholism.

“Sheriff?”

Harry forces his head and his eyes to move. Lucy has coffee for him.

“Thanks.”

She looks like she really wants to say something, so he waits, but then she doesn’t and just leaves instead. Harry downs half the mug in almost a single swallow. He hasn’t been eating, just drinking coffee. It’s been more than fifty hours. They have less than a day left to find Dale and Harry’s been sleeping in his office. He can’t be out looking because he has court today… Hawk is still in the woods, though. Hawk can find anyone.

It hurts, though. As an idea, it _ hurts. _ Dale’s out there in the cold, probably having a seizure because he doesn’t have his meds, completely alone and possibly at the mercy of _ Bob _ and all the other evils that live in the shadows between trees.

Harry has court today. He can’t be out looking. Other men are in the forest doing it for him, and he hates that. But he has court today. He rummages his desk and puts some whiskey in his coffee… not enough to screw up his driving, but enough to take the edge off. His hands stop shaking after a few minutes. This is a line he swore he’d never cross, drinking at work when there’s no social reason. Men who drink at work have a problem. He feels guilty… but it’ll just be this one time. It’s only because he’s worried about Dale. He’ll never do it again after this, because he doesn’t have a problem. He’s just scared. That’s all it is. Harry doesn’t have a problem. He really doesn’t.


	26. Expired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major trigger warnings in end notes.

They’re too late.

Seventy two hours have elapsed.

They’re too late.

Harry shouldn’t be driving. He’s so tired, he hasn’t been eating. He’s had so much coffee but it won’t touch his brain anymore. He’s a hazard to everyone, himself included. But right now he just doesn’t care. It’s been over seventy two hours and Dale hasn’t been found. They’re no longer looking for a live person. He can’t deal with this, can’t deal with his job or Albert or his subordinates or the problem he absolutely doesn’t have. So he drives. He drives even though he can barely see. His eyes want to close. His body wants to give up and sleep. It’s still raining way too hard and his right boot got filled with lead somehow when he wasn’t looking. He’s not wearing his seatbelt. Harry’s breaking at least five laws right now, but he really, really just doesn’t care.

They’re too late.

It doesn’t matter.

They’re too late.

Harry doesn’t know where he’s going exactly, and he also doesn’t care. His arms and feet move themselves, driving the truck without his say-so. He can’t be at the station because he can’t deal with it. He can’t be at home because that’s the last place he saw Dale alive. He can’t be in town because people will try to talk to him. That leaves one place left - a part of the woods where he knows he won’t find anything, because everyone’s afraid of it and it’s plastered in a web of crime scene tape. None of Albert’s men are there, though. They’re out looking for Dale’s body. Nobody will find Harry here.

It doesn’t matter.

The rain still beats on him the way it has the last few days, but now it seems like it’s taunting him. He couldn’t find Dale in time. He couldn’t stop this from happening in the first place. Harry could’ve done better, but he didn’t, and now it’s too late. After seventy two hours, you’re looking for a body.

It’s gruesome how, as Harry drags himself through the trees towards Glastonbury Grove, all he can think about is how it might’ve happened. Maybe Dale didn’t freeze, he could’ve fallen and hit his head, which could probably kill him after his injury. He could’ve gotten stuck in a bear trap and some animal came along to finish him off. _ Bob _ could’ve just devoured him somehow.

There it is - those twelve sycamore trees and the hole in the middle. Everything is wound with police tape. The log he sat and waited on is still there, and the rifle missing from the gun cabinet in his office. Harry completely forgot that was here, because when he was struggling to get Dale to safety he left his rifle behind to rust. Harry picks it up and looks at it - it’s ruined. Well, so is the rest of his life, so it can stand in solidarity with him. After a second he tosses it away. It’ll never fire again and the ammunition inside is destroyed.

Harry sits on the log and stares into the hole like he did back then. He should’ve known better. He took it for granted… he took Josie for granted, too, he thought she’d be there and then suddenly she wasn’t. He never imagined her dying. It was unthinkable. Now Dale’s gone, too, without a trace, and after seventy two hours you’re looking for a body. Harry didn’t learn his lesson. He took Dale for granted. He was an idiot and assumed he’d always wake up with that gorgeous man on his right. Maybe if he’d been smarter this wouldn’t have happened. He let this happen. He _ made _ this happen through his selfishness.

Harry wishes he’d brought his bottle of whiskey with him, because right now it seems like a really good idea to sit in the frigid rain and drink himself to death. He remembers what he was thinking back then, when he trashed the Bookhouse in a drunken rage and Dale came to talk him down. Harry had been fully prepared to shoot himself, not because he wanted to die but because he _ didn’t _ want to live. He couldn’t imagine living without Josie. But Dale found the way in, brought him back to reality, got him to see sense. Dale comforted him.

Who’s going to comfort him, now?

Harry can’t go through this again. He can’t. It’s probably stupid and childish, but all he can think now is _ it’s not fair. _ It’s not fair that he lost Josie the way he did. It’s not fair that he was in the hospital with cancer when Dale got hurt. It’s not fair that Dale ended up with seizures. It’s not fair that now Harry’s lost Dale, too. He thinks maybe fate gets a laugh out of beating him with a stick like this and he’s so done with it. Life can be unfair to someone else going forward.

A film reel plays behind his eyes. Dale almost burned down the kitchen trying to make breakfast for him one time, which proved once and for all that no, he’s not perfect. Harry would always be quiet whenever Dale was meditating, but he didn’t mind because it was a peaceful quiet. When they finally made love for real the first time it was after Dale’s cast came off, they were both clumsy because Harry was nervous and that made Dale nervous… everything got knocked off the bedside table by accident and they both laughed, and after that they stopped being nervous, and it was beautiful. Everything about Dale was beautiful and the world is a darker, uglier place without him in it.

Harry slides his gun out of his jacket and stares at it… he’d love to just go for it but his hands won’t work. He needs whiskey for that. His hands won’t work. He puts it back again and cries for awhile instead, the heat of his tears mixing with the cold of the rain on his face. He doesn’t get why the people he loves are always snatched away from him. And how could this happen to Dale in the first place? Dale’s so smart and capable. How can Dale be gone?

Eventually he’s too tired to cry anymore. Maybe he’ll just lie down and freeze right here. Then Albert will have two bodies to find.

Movement blurs in the corner of his eye.

Harry turns to look - the trees are thick here, it’s dark, the rain doesn’t help any. But there’s something moving, and it’s not the color of anything living in a forest. Blue. Harry knows from Dale’s descriptions that _ Bob _ wears jean clothes, a jacket and pants, which are blue. _ Bob. _ This is where _ Bob _ lives and _ Bob _ is the one who set all this in motion, trying to get back at Dale for escaping the Black Lodge. Harry forgets to be tired and instead now he’s falling into a deep pit of rage. His hands are in fists and he’s running before he even notices standing up from the log.

The rain gets in his eyes, he can barely see where he’s going. He focuses on the color blue. Harry knows how dangerous _ Bob _ is, but he doesn’t care. _ Bob_’s at least partly responsible for this happening to Dale and Harry’s going to thrash him for it.

Harry catches up and grabs - his fingers find soft fabric. It’s not a jean jacket. He still can’t see but he knows this is wrong, it’s the wrong thing. The body under the fabric flinches away from him, trips. Harry wipes the rainwater out of his eyes and this can’t be right, maybe he’s asleep.

“Dale?” he whispers, freezing in place.

Dale’s soaking in his pajamas, wearing his green rubber rain boots with probably no socks underneath. His skin is blue from cold and he cringes away. “Harry are you real?”

“What?” Harry could ask the same thing.

“Are you real?” Dale demands in a tone of voice that doesn’t fit him. It’s angry and scared, two things Dale Cooper never is.

“Yeah, I’m real,” Harry answers. He doesn’t know what’s going on. “Dale-”

“Prove it!” Dale tries to stand back up but falls again. He’s such a mess and Harry wants to reach for him but can’t, because he looks like a cornered animal. Something happened out here. Something happened to Dale that made him like this, he’s not supposed to be looking and acting this way, something’s wrong.

“Okay, how do you want me to prove it?” Harry asks, because there’s nothing else he can do. He’s not smart enough to prove anything to anyone right now. Then he remembers that this is an emergency. They can’t stay out here in the cold, not when they’re both soaked through. He inches forward, holding out his hands. “Dale, please, you’re freezing, I need to take you to the hospital before you lose all your fingers.”

“You were repeatedly calling for me but I couldn’t find you,” Dale says. “How can I be sure you’re real now?”

“Dale, you need to go to the hospital,” Harry begs. “I’ve been trying to find you for four days, I thought you were _ dead, _ you need to see a doctor. I know you’re cold. We need to get you some help right now.”

Harry doesn’t know how he’s quick enough for this because he’s so tired, but he darts in and grabs Dale. Harry thinks Dale will fight, but he doesn’t. They’re walking. Harry tries to rub warmth into his boyfriend but it’s impossible when he’s so wet and frozen himself, so he just holds Dale as tight as he can.

“I think you’re real,” Dale mumbles. “You always smell like the fir trees… you smell like you’re real.”

“I’m real,” Harry promises. Did Dale hit his head again? “So are you.”

They make it back to his truck. Harry turns the engine and puts the heater on full before grabbing his radio.

“Lucy, are you there?”

“Sheriff? Is that you? Everyone’s looking for you, they’re very worried.”

“I need an ambulance at the trailhead to Glastonbury Grove right now.”

“Okay, I’ll send them.”

Harry throws his jacket and hat into the back of his truck, then decides his overshirt should go, too. He’ll dry faster this way. Dale’s shivering hard enough to shake the entire vehicle, so Harry reaches over and struggles him out of his rain boots and pajama shirt so that he’ll dry faster, too. As the engine runs and the air gets warmer, Dale starts to look like he’s in pain. It’s horrible but that’s also a good sign, it means circulation is going back into his hands and feet. He’ll go from bluish-white to pink again in a few minutes.

“Dale what happened? Why were you out by yourself for so long?”

“I thought I heard someone calling for help… they were close by. I went out to find them but there was nobody there, so I continued to search for them. By the time I realized the owls were talking to me I was already disoriented, I wasn’t sure which direction I came from and I attempted to follow a stream back home. Apparently it led me even further away.”

“How the hell did you end up in Ghostwood without anyone seeing you?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to get away from Glastonbury Grove from the moment I realized that’s where I was, but no matter which direction I took and where I turned I would somehow find my way back to the ring of sycamore trees. It was frightening.”

Harry’s lungs shake. No, he can’t cry, not in front of Dale. Dale’s the one who’s hurt, he has no right. He grabs onto the steering wheel to steady himself. It almost helps.

“You were gone when I woke up… I called Albert, I called the state police, we’ve all been trying to find you for four days now… Dale, I thought… I…”

He can’t. He can’t. He has no right.

A palm like a steak that’s been left in a freezer rests on his forearm. “Harry, it’s okay,” Dale whispers.

He bursts into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of unsafe driving choices.  
2\. Brief reference to alcoholism.  
3\. Depictions of grief.  
4\. Depictions of suicidal ideation; no attempt is made, but it's a near thing.  
5\. Depictions of extreme fear and mental trauma.  
6\. Depictions of illness/injury due to cold.


	27. The Natural Provocation Of An Extreme Fear Response

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major trigger warnings in end notes.

They give him blankets straight from the warmer when he’s in the emergency room - Dale immediately has the sensation of suffering a second degree burn and forces himself not to remove them. He’s exhausted with a dangerously low body temperature. This is necessary for his health. A dose of his epilepsy medication is administered, but he’s had two seizures since he got himself lost and it’ll take several days for the medication to take effect again. He can thus expect more seizures to come.

Harry is also given a blanket - it’s draped across his shoulders while he shakes with exhaustion in the chair beside the gurney Dale’s lying on. They’ve both spent far too much time in hospitals this year and Dale has currently suffered the privacy curtain to be partially closed because he knows Harry prefers not to be seen like this. His boyfriend is thoroughly rattled by this terrible experience and still doesn’t quite believe that Dale isn’t actually dead. Judging by the look he wears, Harry is expecting to wake up at his desk in the station to find out Dale’s still missing.

Dale is also having difficulty trusting reality. The owls had at some points called out to him in Harry’s voice, leading him to run in circles and add to his overall confused and disoriented state. But in the hospital, he’s safe from the owls. Harry is here, too. The owls can’t reach him…

…Albert, on the other hand, can.

“Coop. Did _ Bob _ do this?”

“Hello, Albert, it’s nice to see you, too. Well, currently I feel somewhat miserable, but it’s only temporary. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re alive and talking, that makes me assume you’ll be okay. How did this happen?”

“The voices of the owls preyed on my weaknesses.”

Albert unceremoniously shoves a mug of black coffee into Harry’s grip before continuing. “The brass are going to have a field day with this. They’re already riding Gordon’s ass, so now guess whose ass gets rode until we figure this out. Tomorrow, when you’ve thawed, there’s going to have to be a pretty long discussion about this.” Then, Albert sighs. “I’m glad you’re alive, Coop. You were out there for awhile and nobody could find a trace of you.” A glance at Harry. “How did you find him, anyway?”

Harry finishes gulping down his coffee first. “I went out into the woods to shoot myself and ended up chasing after him because I thought he was _ Bob._”

“As disturbing as that is, it’s lucky you picked the right spot. Obviously you didn’t shoot yourself.”

“Obviously not,” Harry snorts. “I’m done talking about this right now.”

“Truman, I’m not a psychologist, but in my professional opinion you need therapy and some method to cut down on your alcoholism. Before you say you’re not drunk, I’m aware of that fact. And I also know for damn sure that you’re thinking about drinking right now.”

“I don’t have a problem,” Harry snaps. “I don’t show up for work drunk.”

“Good for you. And every binge-drinking boozer everywhere is convinced he doesn’t have a problem. But I’m willing to bet that you drink in your office when nobody’s looking and think you can get away with it. News flash, Sheriff: you can’t. Someone _ will _ find out and then your ass is in hot water. And you know how I know that? Because it happened to me a few years ago. Get some help. Soon.”

Harry says nothing and goes back to being quietly overwhelmed and exhausted in his chair.

“Albert I think there was a less abrasive way you could’ve phrased that,” Dale points out.

“Yeah, there probably was, if I wanted him to not get the message. Now, all that pleasantness aside, you were less disturbed-looking after being shot.”

“Albert, I’d like you to think of a child with a teddy bear. This child breaks his arm and the teddy bear goes with him to the hospital while his arm is put in a cast. It’s a safe, comforting thing. Until one evening he goes to sleep and dreams that this teddy bear is malicious and attacks him… something safe and which comforted him through a trauma has now been used to terrorize him by his own subconscious. The owls periodically called out to me in Harry’s voice. I was disoriented and hypothermic, and in four days I’ve had two seizures. I believed I would find him but he repeatedly failed to appear. When he finally arrived, I wasn’t able to comprehend or trust him and it was a truly terrible moment for both of us. _ Bob, _ as we know, feeds on fear. Between the two of us he was presented with an entire Thanksgiving Day banquet.”

Albert frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t think either of you should be left by yourselves for awhile after this. Coop, I’m going to tell the medical staff to keep you overnight for observation. Tomorrow once you’re discharged I’ll come meet you at the station to take statements.”

Albert leaves them alone in the patient cubicle, presumably to speak with the attending in charge of Dale’s care. Harry stands up from the chair and is instantly shaking from fatigue.

“Harry-”

“Shhh.” The mound of hospital bedding is tucked around him like a cocoon and the head of the gurney is flattened. “You said you had seizures, I want you to take a nap.”

Dale can feel the true motive behind this without any conscious effort. “Harry, I don’t understand why you’re so averse to being upset around me. You have every reason to be in a difficult emotional state after going through something like this.”

“I’m not the one who got lost,” Harry croaks. The barriers are crumbling… he’s simply too tired for them to hold.

Dale can’t help the fact that he’s also welling up. “Did you actually intend to commit suicide?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Harry’s tremors increase in magnitude by a moderate degree. “I wanted to blow my brains out, but I wasn’t drunk so I couldn’t. I can’t… Dale, after Josie, I can’t… again. It’d be too much.”

Dale wipes his eyes clear against the back of his wrist before sliding his hand into Harry’s palm. “I can’t make promises… unfortunately life is too unpredictable for such things. But I wouldn’t ever go down without a fight. I’ll put in my best effort to stay with you for as long as I can. I love you.” He squeezes Harry’s fingers.

Interestingly, Harry takes several deep breaths before screwing his eyes shut. “I…” Another breath. “DaleIloveyoutoo.” And he covers his face with his free hand.

Dale is taken by such surprise that for a moment he forgets to breathe. He can only assume this is a result of the sheer magnitude of fear Harry’s been subjected to in the previous handful of days. Fear, it seems, is quite useful for that at times. It forces a response. It can break down indecision as easily as causing it. Harry had been so afraid of losing Dale entirely that it overtook any number of other fears, including, apparently, whichever one was inhibiting him from saying this until now.

He feels mentally, trying to tap his intuitive link to Harry’s emotional state. Ordinarily this is an involuntary mechanism of action, but it seems possible he can take advantage of it. He needs to know but he can’t ask…

_ Harry’s blood turned to ice under his skin and he wanted to throw up. This was real and he couldn’t stop it. She was going, she wouldn’t be back, he’d never see her again. He knew it wasn’t enough, he knew it wouldn’t work, but he had to say it anyway. _

_ “I love you.” _

_ Josie froze for just a second, looking back at him. Her face said “don’t” in such and ugly and harsh way that words never could, she was going. It wasn’t because she wanted to be ugly or harsh to him. She clearly didn’t. But she was going, she had no choice. _

_ “Josie, I love you…” _

_ Harry watched her go. There was nothing he could do but stand there choking, and he didn’t understand why it had to be this way at all. _

Dale feels the emotional pain roll through him like a wave, so strong it can almost belong to him and not to Harry. A fresh wash of tears streams from the corners of his eyes and he grips Harry’s hand as tightly as possible without causing pain.

“I won’t leave,” Dale whispers. It’s as close to a promise as he can get.

Harry still hides behind his own palm, too vulnerable to let himself be seen. “So do you just read my mind?”

“Sometimes, yes. It’s usually sporadic.”

“Good to know.” A shuddering breath. “Dale…”

“It’s okay. I know.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery trigger warnings:  
1\. Depictions of illness/injury due to cold.  
2\. Discussion of suicidal ideation.  
3\. Discussion of alcoholism.  
4\. Depictions and discussion of mental trauma.


	28. Epilogue - Not Sleeping

“I perused your photo albums some time ago,” Dale comments. Currently they’re sleepily draped across Frank’s couch together. “There was one of a Thanksgiving set very much like this one was, but your mother was missing.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, she died a few months before that. She had cancer, too.”

Apparently even Dale isn’t immune to the tranquilizing effects of too much turkey, because he’s sluggish to respond. “I like you in this flannel.”

From his beaten-down recliner in the corner, Frank snorts at them, but it’s not hostile. Harry’s brother mostly accepts their relationship by now. “You know I’ve seen teenagers less clingy than you two.”

Harry glares. “Shut up, Frank.”

“Just saying.”

“Well, stop saying it.” Harry’s kinda drunk, he shouldn’t be drinking but it’s Thanksgiving and he’s not even at home. Probably nobody could blame him for being a little cranky.

“It’s been almost a year,” Dale says. His voice is getting sleepier by the minute. Harry’s pretty sure his boyfriend is going to pass out on his side and then he’ll just be stuck there until Dale wakes up again. “At the end of February, I’ve known you for a year. I recall at one point reading a study that couples who’ve been in a relationship for at least two years before getting married are less likely to suffer divorce afterwards.”

Frank looks like he’s trying not to laugh and Harry hates him for it. A throat clearing. Then: “Now, Deputy Cooper, you realize you’re suggesting something illegal to my brother right now.”

“He’s just rambling, he’s about to fall asleep,” Harry interrupts. “Leave him alone.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Dale murmurs in protest… and promptly drifts off, draped across Harry and the couch.

Harry drinks more of his whiskey and relaxes, or tries to. It annoys him that Frank still finds their relationship something to be made fun of, but there isn’t a lot he can really do about that. Besides, he’s kinda drunk, so it’d just lead to a screaming match and Dale would get upset with both of them.

Doris sits in the other chair and eyes Dale: “Harry, how is he so thin?”

Harry chuckles. Dale ate an entire pie by himself for dessert. Because of course he did. “Just a high metabolism or something. This is normal for him, he eats a lot of pie anyway. Donuts, too.”

They’re too bogged down from overeating to talk much, so aside from the fire it’s quiet. Harry’s glad in a very sick way that his father fell down a gorge during a hunting trip and broke several bones, because it means he could safely bring Dale here to Frank’s house for this holiday. He’s happy he did it no matter how annoying his brother is towards him. Listening to the fireplace and the muffled rhythm of his nephew chopping more wood out back, Harry can sink into the warmth of being pressed between Dale and the couch. It doesn’t matter so much that there’s still scary things in the woods back home, or that Albert calls three times a week to hassle him about his drinking habits, or that Dale will probably never conquer the shower curtain. At this place, in this moment, his life is how it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> In 1990, it's likely these two would both call themselves bisexual because the understanding was limited. As to what their actual sexual orientation is, I can't answer. They're whatever you want them to be.
> 
> Hopefully I correctly warned for all the potential triggers. I did my best, but I'm only one guy and I have no beta.
> 
> All my Twin Peaks fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments are welcomed and encouraged :)


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